What Happens In Mexico
by ObsessedRomantic
Summary: Starting my new, slightly more naughty AU: Townwood Hills. Ever wonder what would've happened if Ryan had driven them to TJ? Aside from them getting there a day earlier, that is. Read and see. RT, impllied SS, LM.
1. Driving

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own anything, still just doing this for fun and feedback. Please don't sue or flame.

**Warning: **Rated M for language and graphic adult situations (also known as smut).

**A/N: **The idea for this story started as the original beginning to the Townwood Exit AU (Ryan goes to TJ instead of cage fighting) but I couldn't make it fit the time frame. This series will also mostly be from Ryan's POV w/a little Taylor thrown in for flavor. (sorry Sethummer fans).

So, it occurred to me; what would happen to the episode 'The Escape' if Ryan was driving?

With that in mind, we join the AU, already in progress …………

--xxx—

**What Happens In Mexico **

Ryan rolled his eyes at the bickering coming from the backseat. He'd already threatened to stop the car, to make them walk to TJ, to have the two girls switch seats; everything he could think of. Seeing a filing station ahead, he pulled over. He needed a break, however brief. 'Car needs gas' he claimed. Seth gave him a strange look, but went with it. The two brunettes piled out with no pause to their sniping. He leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed, and sighed heavily. _This day can't get any worse_.

''Ryan?'' _Oh, wait, yes it could. _Marissa's voice was hopeful, wavering. He refused to look over, not willing to fall for whatever manipulation she was trying this time. He kept his eyes closed, denying her even that access.

''Yeah?'' _I really wish we'd gone to Comic Con_. She didn't answer, which didn't surprise him, really.

He'd finally gotten what she was up to, the game she was playing with him and Luke. That little remark about him being 'too late' had been very revealing. She obviously thought he was too dumb to get it. She was playing them both, one against the other; testing them to see which would go the farthest, who was most 'worthy'. It had taken him most of the time since that disastrous party to figure it out, he really hadn't had time to share the revelation with anyone else. Which was probably why Seth still thought he was into the chick.

''I don't see where you get off being mad at **me**.'' Marissa said sulkily. He peeked out of the corner of his eyes to where she sat pouting, crossing her arms. ''We were never together or anything.''

''I'm not mad.'' Ryan ran a hand idly over the steering wheel. _Figures. Soon as I get the bickering twins out of the car, the drama bitch starts up. _He opened his eyes, keeping his gaze locked out the forward window. He wondered how far he'd get if he just ran for it. ''And you're right, we were never together. Your choice.''

''I think I made a mistake.'' She whispered, voice wistful.

''Not my problem.'' He snapped. He was tired of being nice to her. Maybe if he started being an asshole, she'd take the hint.

''Ryan…..'' Tone apologetic, eyes wide with regret and hurt. _Probably calculated to the last eye-blink. _

''No.'' He turned, glaring at her with disdain. _No one plays me_. ''Shit. You want to talk? You always want to talk. Do you ever fucking listen? Does anyone goddamn matter except you?'' She frowned, he saw the flick of uncertainty in those blue eyes. _Probably no one's ever called her on her act before. Phone's a-ringing, chica_. ''Yeah, I wanted to get to know you. I gotta tell you, though; the more I find out about you, the less time I actually want to spend with you.''

''And you're so damn perfect.'' She responded harshly. They were both too involved in the battle to notice the return of the other two. ''You've had** such** a hard life.'' There was a gasp of shock from the back seat, but he was too pissed off to look to see which one it was. _What does this spoiled little Daddy's girl know about a hard life? Her idea of tough is some chick having the same dress at some party. _He knew the thought wasn't entirely fair, but he was angry enough to burst.

''I never claimed to be** perfect**.'' Ryan snarled, turning in his seat to face her fully. She opened her mouth to protest, but he had no intention of letting her interrupt him. ''My life isn't something you'd **ever** want to hear about, **lady**, so don't even go there.'' Just thinking about it made him slightly nauseous. _There goes lunch._ He'd never be able to eat with this sick feeling in his gut.

''If you hate me so much, why are you even here?'' Marissa asked, tears artfully welling in her eyes. He shook his head, dropping his chin towards his chest as he snorted at the sheer arrogance of this girl.

''Okay, first: not everything is about **you**. Second: who ever said I hated you? Just because I won't help you make your boyfriend jealous doesn't mean I **hate** you. It just means I don't like getting my ass kicked.'' He lifted his head back up to glare at her. ''I'm here because it's the only way to keep you and the other popular bitches from tormenting Summer until she stops spending time with Seth.'' There was another intake of breath from the backseat, this one in stereo. ''You haven't noticed, because it doesn't involve **you**; but those two are fucking made for each other.''

''All they do is fight, I've noticed **that**.'' She pointed out, shooting a doubtful look towards her friend. Summer was just sitting there, twinning Seth's stunned and open-mouthed look. He snorted again, turning back to face the steering wheel.

''Ever hear of a screwball comedy?'' He started the engine, drowning out Summer's protests and Seth's excited agreement.

''You think you're **so** smart.'' She hissed at him as he pulled out of the filling station parking lot.

''Can we just go back to that thing where we each pretend the other doesn't exist? That was really working for me.'' He swallowed a little smile of victory as she slouched in her seat.

The car was silent the rest of the way to the hotel as the two in back conversed in whispers, instead of constant griping; and Marissa sulked. They pulled into the lot just before noon. Ryan got out and stretched as the others exited the vehicle, Seth practically running to pick up their pre-booked keys. Marissa snatched her one bag and stomped after him. He popped the hatch to unload and went around to the back. Summer stood there waiting for him, twisting her hands together. She looked like she was building up to something. _Drama, part two. Now playing. _He grunted as he lifted one of her bags out of the storage space.

''If you're gonna yell, yell. If it's some story to ditch Seth; do your own dirty work.'' He started piling her designer luggage in front of her feet. He looked up to find her brown gaze approving and a little ashamed.

''Everyone's meeting up at the Boom-Boom.'' She told him, fidgeting with her jewelry now. _And people think she doesn't have anything in common with Seth. _''Maybe you should, uhm…..''

''Go somewhere else?'' That sounded like a **very** appealing idea, if it weren't for one thing. ''I'm not leaving Seth alone in a place called Boom-Boom. I'd be taking him back to Newport in a body bag.''

''He wouldn't be alone.'' Summer put her hands on her hips. He had to admit, if it hadn't been for his brother; he probably would've gone for her. She was strong, self-assured, and intelligent. Now, however, all he could see her as was Seth's. She lifted her eyebrows at him. ''You think I can't handle Cohen and whoever tries to throw down?''

''I think I feel sorry for whoever.'' She smiled at his words, knowing he'd paid her a huge compliment; trusting her to handle whatever came up.

''Tru dat.'' He bit back a snicker at her ghetto speak. _These Newport people are so fucking unreal. _

''You try and ditch him, though; and I don't care if you **are** a girl, Roberts: I'll kick your ass.'' He hefted his and his brother's bags, closing the trunk and fixing her with a solemn look. Summer grinned, crossing her arms as she tossed her hair over one shoulder.

''You're kidding, right? I couldn't push him away with a dump truck.'' At his amused lift of eyebrow, she scowled, waving one hand around in her search for the proper construction vehicle. ''Cement mixer. Whatev.'' She sounded like she was trying to be annoyed with Seth's loyalty, but he could tell she was actually pleased. _Those two need to get a room before all that sexual tension kills someone. _ He ducked his head to hide a smirk, shifting the bags around to carry them more comfortably. She stared seriously at him for a minute, tilting her head specutively. ''You okay with this?'' She was worried about hurting his feelings? Seth was right, she was different. _I've got that cell phone if they get into it. _

Knowing that Seth would call the instant things started happening, good or bad, clinched the deal for him.He nodded, agreeing to the arrangements, and headed towards the hotel.

-- end teaser – because I'm evil ----


	2. Dancing

**A/N: **Dance music: Push It by Garbage, Animal by NIckelback (basically, if it thumps and it's sexy, spin it), and Vida Loca by Ricky Martin for regional flavor (and in honor of Ms. Townsend). Mood set: let's go.

-- xxx –

She was very good at pretending. Those snide and catty comments? Didn't affect her in the least. Snickering when she walked by, conversations that stopped when she came up? Didn't notice it at all. So she pretended not to care that her mother never showed up at any event, unless it was to criticize her. To actually **like** doing all the hard work and never getting any credit, or even a word of thanks. That not having any friends was okay, that honor roll and all her activities were enough to make her happy. And when it got to be too much, when she felt suffocated by the vacuum of her life, she had her coping mechanisms.

When she was angry enough to spit, choking on all the things she didn't dare say to her mother; she went down to the dojo. When she was depressed, she volunteered at the hospital, or the Y, or anywhere else people needed someone so desperately they didn't care **who** it was. When she was lonely enough to cry, she went dancing.

It was always some club or bar away from Newport where no one would recognize her. She didn't want to risk her mother finding out and taking **this** from her just because it didn't further her chances for college. She always started the night negotiating with the bartender. Beer prices for bottled soda, soda she watched being opened and never left untended. No reason to let one slip destroy her life, she did enough volunteering at the woman's clinic to know **that** much.

The boys (and sometimes men) at those places were always the biggest problem. It took **hours** for them to get the hint that she didn't want to dance with **them**, she just wanted to dance. She got expert at ignoring their disappointed comments on her looks, sexuality, 'frigid' attitude. Once the beat entered her blood; nothing else existed except her, and the music. It was the perfect anodyne to her heart break.

She had been seeking that solace Friday night.

Earlier that morning, she'd been trying to decide whether it was worth the effort to get dressed; when she'd gotten the phone call. The hotel in TJ had wanted to know if the senorita still wanted the room for that weekend? She'd been stunned, remembering that wicked urge last semester that had pushed her to reserve the room. She'd wanted, back then, to do something reckless, something wild she could hold to herself in sweet memory when she was a dried up, bitter old maid; snarling at all the happy grandmothers in the nursing home. Something her mother would **never** have approved of. Knowing that Marissa wasn't going to go, this time; **that** was the deciding factor. Certainly not because _**he**_ would be there.

She'd confirmed her reservation in a flurry of excitement. Too keyed up to drive, she chartered a helicopter. She spent the morning settling in, looking around, and getting to know the 'lay of the land'. Fellow students from Harbor were already thick on the ground, converging at a place called Boom-Boom. They didn't even notice her, probably wouldn't have recognized her in the genuinely happy girl she was that morning. She picked up a few touristy things, picked out an outfit, and got into a long conversation with the hotel's clerk, Miguel; trying to help him see he was desperately in love with his childhood friend, Luciana.

Dressing in a giddy haze near noon, a familiar sound had shaken her confidence. Peeking out her window, she'd seen a girl walking along, blonde hair gleaming in the sun. _Marissa Cooper_. She'd stepped back from the window and all but fallen onto the bed. It was as if the other had struck her, so numbing was the pain. Time passed outside the room, unaffected by the fading, flickering light of her dreams. Uncaring of her hopeful plans. Staring at her outfit on the bed, she firmed her jaw and got dressed.

Low-heeled sandals, adorably comfortable. A light denim skirt, hugging her hips and flaring out to end in a ruffle mid-shin. White cotton sleeveless blouse, embroidered with roses along the collar and down the center, outlining the small red buttons elegantly. Her auburn hair falling down her back in curls, silver hoops swinging from her ears; a touch of perfume, and she was gone.

Music pounded in her veins, liberating her from reality; pushing the memories aside. She closed her eyes, steeped in the song, the moment. The Shakedown was a good club, the bartender didn't have** any** problem selling her Fanta at Guinness prices. No one paid her any attention at all. Not after she shot down the first dozen guys or so. Okay, so maybe it was more that she'd broken that guy's wrist; but he'd had it coming for grabbing her ass like that. Most importantly, only Trojans were here; no Pirates came anywhere **near** this end of town. She was considering her third cherry soda when she felt it. Someone was staring at her. Stifling a sigh, she opened her hazel eyes, looking over her shoulder towards the bar to see which of the boys hadn't taken her earlier hint. Maybe she should've have broken ass-grabber's arm. It wasn't any of them, though.

It was _**him**_.

She yanked her head back around, so surprised she almost lost the rhythm for a moment. He was still watching her, she felt it. His blue eyes were like fire on her skin, electrifying her. She kept dancing, risking a glance out of the corner of one eye as she twirled. He looked **great**. Jeans, sneakers, an open short-sleeve shirt over a white tee shirt. A good look for him, understated and classic. She felt a dryness in her mouth that had **nothing** to do with thirst. She didn't **care** where his friends were or how he had come to be here, watching her. He was **here**, watching **her** with a tiny little furrow between the brows over his intensely burning eyes. He recognized her. And he couldn't tell from where.

Feeling wicked, she turned to face him across the dance floor, smiling as sultrily as she knew how. She slowed the motion of her dance, locking gazes with him so he wouldn't have any doubts. She was dancing for **him**, performing for _**him**_. The club was empty of anyone else as far as she was concerned. His eyes traveled appreciatively over her body, leaving trails of tingling fire along her skin as he leaned comfortably against the bar. Anyone else would've blushed, or looked away, or came over to grab at her, make some lame proposition. He just stood there, enjoying her display, that little furrow between his eyes getting deeper and deeper the longer he watched.

Unable to stand the excitement alone any more, she crooked a finger at him invitingly. He turned away, dipping her good mood a little; until she saw the bartender holding up a cherry Fanta. She nodded, enthusiasm more than restored. He walked over to her slowly, frowning in frustrated contemplation. He handed her the drink, not speaking as she held the cool bottle against her cheek for a moment before drinking. She stopped her dancing as she did so, suddenly parched beyond belief. How long had she been going? She neither knew, nor cared. It was worth it to have _**him**_ here, looking at **her** like** that**.

''Hey.'' His voice was husky, deeper than she'd thought it'd be. Because of her? Her stomach clenched pleasantly at the thought. She hoped it was, she hoped he was having as much trouble speaking normally as she was. ''I know you, don't I?''

''Yes, you do.'' She murmured softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes; pitching her voice so that he had to step forward to hear. She felt a dizzy joy at how close he was standing. Tension snapped invisibly tight in the tiny space between them, crawling with electricity. She smiled at him, flirtatiously confident. Whether it was an overload of sugar from the drinks or a euphoria brought on by her energetic dancing; she didn't want to know. All she knew was that the longer she could stretch this out, the longer she waited to tell him her name; the longer she could keep his attention. ''Dance with me, Ryan.''

He twitched minutely at his name, unable to believe that she really **did** know him. He ran his eyes over her again, trying to place her. Auburn hair, only slightly sweat-damp hung, curling, in her luminous hazel eyes. Her skin glowed a creamy tan which his palms itched with a building urge to touch. Her body ……..how could he forget a girl with a body like this? He knew she was no one he'd ever slept with; he never would've forgotten that fine a piece for a** second**. She had to be from Newport, it was the only place that a body like **that** could blend in.

''I don't dance, …..?'' He left the end of his statement open, raising his eyebrows in a blatant request for her name.

She raised a teasing eyebrow at him, silently turning away to walk the short distance to one of the tables lining the dance floor. He didn't move; caught by the movement of her hips, just below the tail end of the glowing wonder of her hair. He swallowed, watching her avidly as she discarded the empty bottle and then turned back to him in one smooth, graceful motion. She walked slowly towards him, placing one foot in direct line behind the other so that she seemed to flow seductively across the floor. Her toenails were painted the same shade of red as her fingernails, his mind noted inanely. Great, now what's her fucking **name**? he asked himself. She stopped barely a breath away from him and he felt his muscles lock; desperately aching for her to touch him (he didn't care where) and incredibly afraid she would.

''If you can fuck, you can dance.'' He blinked at the profanity, slightly taken aback. He had to know her, to think that cussing was out of character for her. Who was she, dammit? Taking advantage of his amazed state; she took both his hands gently in hers, appearing impervious to the thrill that shot through him at the contact.

She placed his willing hands on her hips, running her palms up his arms to rest shakily on his shoulders. That reaction, coupled with the part to her panting lips, the glaze to her hazel eyes; he realized she wasn't as unaffected as he'd thought. Testing the theory, he pulled her gently forward so that their bodies were pressed together from hip to chest. **Bad** idea, his mind gibbered, as lightning shot under his skin at every point of contact. She gasped a little, staring at him with excited wonder. He kept his hands on her hips with all the will power he could muster, breathing raggedly at the sheer carnal ecstasy of having her in his arms. He was going to feel those magnificent breasts against his chest for the rest of his life, he knew.

''That a proposition?'' He damn near moaned at her, challenging her assertion he could **dance** in this condition. He was doing well to **walk**, for the love of ……. God, he just wanted to drag her back to the hotel and rip her clothes off; spend the next two days between those glorious legs.

''Only if you can remember my name.'' She teased, starting to move with the music. He couldn't help but move with her, not wanting to lose the contact of her body against his, despite how uncomfortable it was making his jeans. He might as well have not been wearing his boxers, for all he could feel them. He focused his mind desperately on the puzzle of her identity, wanting to win this girl's challenge more than he'd wanted anything else in his life. He dragged his mind out of her panties and directed it towards the mystery before him.

''Rumpelstilskin?'' She laughed, shaking her head at his joke. He smiled, enjoying the pleasure in the sound. ''Just thought I'd get the classics out of the way.'' He frowned, running over every girl he'd seen since coming to Newport. He found himself watching her pulse beat in her neck, wanting to taste the skin laid over it. Pulling his gaze away before he lost control of himself, he felt like he was shaking off a spell. Mind clearing a little now that he wasn't looking at her, he directed his gaze at the crowd around them, hoping something would spark his memory. His hopes were answered as he focused on some guy clearing the tables, tossing a towel over one shoulder as he worked. The movements were familiar, he did stuff like that every other day at…..''Crab salad on wheat, raw vegetables with ranch, and pink lemonade.'' Her eyes widened as he recited her regular lunch order, proud of himself for finally placing her. But she was shaking her head at him sorrowfully, and he felt a surge of panic. No! he was sure that was her, he was positive. There couldn't be two girls like her anywhere in the world, not even Orange County.

''You saw me before you ever worked there.'' She smiled at him a little sadly and he the sparks between them faded a little. He tightened his grip when she tried to push him away. No. He wasn't going to just give this up, not this.

''Give me a better chance than that.'' He pleaded, hoping he didn't sound like he was begging and not really caring if he was. This girl was driving him crazy, making him feel a calm wildness, a pulsing vibrancy that he wanted to explore more fully. He wasn't about to let her go easily. If she made an issue of it, he'd let her go; but she wasn't fighting him. She sighed, nodding in agreement. Feeling euphoric at the renewed opportunity, he grinned; leaning forward to breath his thanks against her neck. ''Thank you.''

Her scent hit him in the gut, tightening his abdomen with a jolt of carnal sensation. He knew that smell. Not her, the flowery odor of whatever perfume she was wearing. Closing his eyes, images flickered behind the lids as he breathed in deeply to stimulate the memories.

….. white flowers everywhere, scent of orchids heavy in the air …..Kirsten snapping pictures of him and Seth …..gliding nervously across the floor, trying desperately not to step on her feet …..no, **before** that……..standing off-stage, watching the other girls being presented ……

His attention had been caught by her; stepping out onto stage alone, being met by the guy Peggy'd had helping her teach them the waltz. Head high, she looked impervious to the whispered comments and tittering of the Newpsies. She was classy and elegant, like the actress he'd seen in that musical Mom'd made him watch: the British one about the flower-seller and the language professor. When he'd accidentally caught her eye during the dance, she'd smiled at him over their partners' shoulders; like they shared a secret. Like they were the only two real people in a room full of plastic, faceless mannequins.

His eyes popped open and he lifted his head from inhaling the intoxicating aroma of her skin. Ryan gazed confidently, solemnly, into her hazel orbs; coming to a stop in the middle of the dance floor. In that moment, no one else in the entire world existed but the two of them. The music pounded just a little quieter than the blood in his ears as he stared deeply into her eyes, enraptured by their glittering light. Speaking her name softly, reverently, like the magic talisman it was: unlocking the possibility of** them**.

''Taylor.''


	3. Doing It

**A/N: **I'm going to be switching the POV back and forth here. Hopefully it'll be apparent who's thinking what.

This one's for you, Waltzy.

-- xxx –

''Ryan.''

Taylor's voice was a whisper, the name a prayer. She wanted to remind the powers that be that she'd had **enough** hard knocks, she deserved to have something go **right** for once. Didn't she? She searched his face, watching his blue eyes for clues as he stared intently at her. There was no revulsion, surprise, or disdain in his expression. He made no move to walk away or reject her, like every other boy ever had. She felt her hopes soaring with each second that passed like an eternity in his arms.

The thrill of his victory swept over Ryan and his next move probably would've been to toss her over his shoulder and find a hotel room, abandoned car, or, at this point; a dark corner. But then his mother-fucking conscience made an appearance and started poking him, cooling his lust. Trey had been right; his sense of right and wrong had the bad habit of keeping him from getting laid. But maybe she **hadn't** just been joking about that proposition? He couldn't think of any phrasing to that question that wouldn't make him sound like some perverted asshole. There was another way to find out, though; and it had the added benefit of being something he wanted to do, anyway.

She felt faint, licking her lips nervously. He was going to, he was **actually** going to…. He was leaning forward, question burning in the gaze locked on her mouth. He moved so slow, **too** slow for her nerves; so she took matters into her grasp, literally. She moved her hands up his neck, hearing his breath hitch, and cupped his face; applying gentle pressure with her fingers to encourage him that final distance. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she placed her lips softly against _**his**_.

**Yes**. That was the only thing he could think as she kissed him, feather soft. Too soft. He kissed her back, harder; running his hands around from her hips to the small of her back. He put his palms flat on her spine, pressing her even more firmly against him. He wasn't sure which of them gasped, or who moaned; but her mouth was open under his, her fingers were tangled in his hair. Soft, wet, hot; sound of desperate breathing, scent of musk and orchids, taste of cherry soda and **her**: he filled his senses with her, sliding his right hand up to cup the back of her head. Fused together in their passion, they were melting together in the flame of it like a pair of candles in the sun.

For once, her heart beat was the only thing going a mile-a-minute. Not her brain, which was undergoing overload; nor her mouth, which was occupied. Just her heart, and her increasingly ragged breath. She couldn't **believe** what she was doing, what she was **feeling**, and she had **no** intention of stopping. She felt the sparks of primal energy crawling along her skin so fiercely, she thought her insides were going to melt. She moaned when he parted his lips, prying her mouth open. His tongue touched hers, torching whatever common sense she had left. She didn't care that they were in public, all that mattered was the feel of _**him**_; the feel of what was pressed against her lower abdomen. She arched her neck, breaking the kiss and panting for much-needed air, eyes tightly closed as she indulged herself in the feel of his strong body. He didn't seem pissed that she wasn't kissing him anymore; trailing his mouth along her jaw and down her neck to kiss the junction of neck and shoulder. She quivered with desire; wanting him,** needing** him. How much farther they would've gone, right there on the **dance floor**, was a question they'd never get the answer to.

'**'Get a room!**'' Several voices shouted; clear and mocking in the short silence between songs.

Ryan lifted his head, startled, looking around to see the club full of people, watching him lose control. He pulled reluctantly back from Taylor, dropping his hands from her body with regret. Her auburn hair was only mussed a little, her lips only slightly swollen; but it was the look in her hazel eyes that was the most telling. They were glazed over with a hungry look of wonder and excitement. He had the answer to his earlier, unspoken, question. She **definitely** wanted him. There was something strange about her kissing, about the look on her face now; but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to **think**, he just wanted to **feel**. Specifically, he wanted to feel her naked body under his. Repeatedly.

''Sounds good to me.''

His voice was **so** ragged. Taylor blinked and focused primarily on him rather than his words. His hair was a mess; she remembered the silky strands tangled around her fingers. His mouth was red and moist and she didn't think it was entirely from her lipstick. Her body was still tingling with excitement; aching now that he was no longer holding her. Her lips pounded where he'd been kissing her, she raised a hand to touch them wonderingly with gentle fingers. He frowned, looking guilty. His words finally sunk through the hormones soaking her brain and she felt something eagerly dangerous uncoil within her. She wanted this, avidly wanted this; like an addict wanted a fix. She smiled in total joy.

''Just one stop to make, first.''

He blinked at the dazzling burst of her smile, barely managed to avoid stumbling like an idiot when she grabbed his hand and tugged him along after her. He ignored the laughter behind them, too intent on following her out of the club. Kick the shit out of a bunch of rich snobs; or follow his siren, hopefully to her bed. Not even a contest. The slightly cooler air outside and the sunset that spotted his vision sliced through the haze of desire clouding his brain. It wasn't watching her purchase the condoms that cleared his mind entirely, it was **how** she bought them. She didn't blush or stammer and tell him to get them. She didn't snatch up a preferred brand with practiced ease, either. She picked up each box, reading them carefully; then selected two boxes of her chosen brand from the back of the row. Two boxes. He hadn't known whether to be flattered or concerned, thrown off the track of the thoughts pushing to the front of his brain. She'd put them in the pocket of her skirt with only a slight flush to her beautiful face. A theory was working it's way through his thoughts, one that was making him nervous and confused.

Taylor wished they hadn't left the club or, at least, that she hadn't stopped for condoms. **That's** when the mood had changed, when he started looking at her in a way she couldn't decipher. Maybe she was being too forward? Maybe he thought she was a huge slut? She told herself firmly that Ryan barely spoke, that she hadn't imagined what had happened on the dance floor. Not even **her** imagination could've come up with the reality of that kiss. She told herself that the silence, like her purchase, was only practical. The streets were crammed with people in various states of inebriated celebration, she could barely hear herself think, let alone anything he might say in that quiet voice of his. He followed her off the main drag to her hotel, a better place to stay than the ones closer to the bars and clubs, and not just because of the central air system. The Hacienda had an old-world feel that she liked, and not one Harbor student was in residence; which made it perfect. Granted, the small garden café served only lunch and dinner, but she thought the quieter, anonymous atmosphere was worth the inconvenience of finding her own breakfast.

The hotel she was staying at fit her: elegant, classy, and well designed. Hardwood floors were covered at easy intervals with long runs of carpet or tastefully patterned rugs. The ceilings were high, exposing wooden beams and giving the lobby a cathedral-like air. Arched doorways had half-circles of stained glass, carved wood, or clay art filling in the tops. The walls were sponge-painted soft, desert tones, soothing after the riot of color they'd left behind on the streets. She opened her door on the second floor with an actual key, leaving him to close it behind them. To the right, there was a small wooden table and two chairs, brochures about the town spread out in a neat fan on the table. The right wall had a counter with a sink, coffee pot, and microwave; underneath of which was a small space fridge. The far wall had two doors with a dresser between them, the kind of thing that looked like something you could crush someone's spine trying to move, with an open suitcase on top of it. The right-hand door was open, revealing a closet with a few girl's clothes hanging in it; which made the other door the bathroom. The left wall was mostly windows, with a set of curtains in heavy white cotton. Ryan was reminded of the Cohen's pool house and felt himself relax despite the turmoil of his thoughts. The twin size bed was neatly made, a pair of nightstands bracketing it with a lamp on each one. She was placing the condoms on the nearest nightstand, reaching up to take her earrings off. Her hands shook, betraying her nervousness; a particular **kind** of nervousness. The theory he'd been building gelled into certainty in the front of his mind and he spoke it into the uneasy silence as he closed the door behind them.

''You're a virgin.''

She closed her eyes in mortification, frozen in the act of setting her earrings on the nightstand. She'd hoped to get things started again before he realized **that. **She'd really hoped he'd never realize it at **all**. He's not stupid, girl, she reminded herself. She didn't want to turn around to see the pity in his face. She swallowed against bitter disappointment, telling herself it wasn't any big deal. But she'd wanted it to be_** him**_ so badly; and not just because he was someone who wouldn't make fun of her, or spread rumors, or do anything mean or nasty after. Or because he was someone who would make it **more** than pleasant during, if that kiss was any indication No, she wanted him because of an impulse, nothing reasonable; a feeling deep inside that said they belonged together. God, she was so **pathetic**. She was so desperately trying to pull herself out of a funk she nearly missed his query.

''Where did you learn moves like that, if you've never….''

Her shoulders moved slightly up and down, more of a lift than a shrug. She seemed resignedly lonely and Ryan remembered that she always at alone at the Crab Shack, how she moved through the crowds with a regal unconcern for the snickering whispers that followed her. He felt a sudden kinship with her, the both of them out of sync with the others; him from below, her from above, both of them desperately lonely. She seemed to forget his question; that he was even in the room, as she stripped off her watch and set it next to her earrings. He stepped closer to her, just within arm's reach. Her head turned slightly, sensing him; a tiny flicker of surprise and confusion flickering over her profile at finding him still in the room. He was glad. Why should **he **be the only one confused? She slipped her feet out of her shoes and turned to face him, hazel eyes serious as she answered his question.

''Dance classes, gymnastics, aikido, tai chi; I guess it all just culminated in a more Eastern approach to the body. Something to be celebrated as opposed to something to be ashamed of.''

He was still there, still there and looking at her like he couldn't help but watch her. There was no pity or condescension in his expression, just calm acceptance over a growing intensity. Her answer made him smile a little, eyes twinkling at her in a friendly fashion. He was so **gorgeous** when he smiled, she was thinking, when he stripped off his watch and wrist cuff, holding them in his left hand over the nightstand with a questioning look, a challenge in his face. Taylor lifted her eyebrows at him, stepping barefoot closer to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body on her bare arms. She shivered in anticipation as he set the watch and cuff on the nightstand, stepping into her, taking her face in his hands. Just before his lips met hers, he paused and she didn't know whether his chivalry was appealing or just** incredibly** frustrating. She hooked her fingers in the loops of his jeans and tugged, pulling his hips firm against hers. She felt the swirl of excitement building again, skin tingling at the renewal of the carnal energy flaring between them. She gasped just as his mouth closed that final, tiny distance, catching her with her lips parted and stealing her breath with the kiss.

This kiss was different, at once more tender and more urgent than the one in the club. Ryan's ethics made a final attempt to sour the mood; warning him that he was taking advantage of a naïve girl so blinded by teenage hormones she wasn't thinking clearly. Right, he told himself; a girl overwhelmed by her own urges stops to buy** two** boxes of condoms. Stuff it, Jiminy Cricket, I'm busy. He slid his hands down her bare arms and around to her back, edging up her shirt to touch the silk of her skin. She moved her hands around to clutch the back of his wife-beater, pulling it upwards. Her hands touched the skin of his back with burning curiosity, making it hard for him to even breathe. He broke the kiss, desperate for air, and started nibbling along her jaw towards her ear.

Taylor felt his breath on her ear, his lips pressing hard to a point just underneath. She moaned, tugging harder at his tee shirt, eager to see his naked chest, to feel it against her own. He slid one hand up under her blouse, gently tracing the edges of her bra. She tried to push herself into his slowly exploring hands, panting with desperate desire. He smiled against her skin, trailing fire down her neck, making her throw her head back with a gasp as he tongued the hollow of her throat. His left hand made delightful exploration of her back as his right hand covered one breast, his fingertips pulling the fabric away from her tingling skin. She started to breath even more heavily, tugging more insistently at his shirt. There was a sound of ripping fabric and she felt him freeze, panting against her cheek. He dropped his hands from her body and stepped back, an amused look on his face. She wanted to smack him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to rip more of his clothes than one little tear in the back of his undershirt.

Damn, she was driving him nuts. Good thing one of them had experience, or he would've made one hell of a mess in his jeans by now. Seeing the wild look in her hazel eyes, he knew he had to do something to move things along before she lost control without losing it himself. Problem was, his body was aching for her touch, her taste; her scent impossibly filled the room so he sucked it in with every ragged breath. Using the last of his wits, he grabbed the hems of both shirts and pulled them both off over his head in one move. Taylor smiled appreciatively, reaching one hand forward to touch his chest. His body burned at her touch, ached where her roaming hands had moved on, down to his stomach. His gut clenched with a jolt of pure animal desire. Fuck. Ryan dropped his shirts on the floor and grabbed at the hem of hers, wanting to even the playing field a little; but mostly just desperate to see if her breasts were as magnificent as they'd felt against his chest, through their clothes.

Taylor felt a thrilling confidence pulsing through her at his fumbling attempts to get her shirt off, hampered by the movement of her arms as she continued to caress his stomach, his chest. He gave a guttural moan, more of a growl, and she stepped to one side, turning him completely around with the slight pressure of one hand. She pushed him, causing him to sit on the bed. His blue eyes were mournful when she didn't join him, but they lit up with like twin azure flames when her fingers started unbuttoning her blouse. She opened her shirt, letting it slide off her arms to fall on the floor next to his. He was staring at her, one foot frozen in the act of prying off a sneaker. His hands clenched in the bedspread to either side of his legs. She dropped her bra after the blouse and watched him swallow, hard, licking his lips. She saw him mapping her breasts with his eyes, the look nearly a physical sensation. His gaze riveted on her hands as she slowly eased her skirt and panties down her legs. He swallowed again, more desperately than before, breath audible through his nose as he bit his lip, staring raptly at her body. His knuckles were nearly white, the sneaker popped off as the prying foot twitched. She stepped out carefully out of the pile of her skirt, looking at him in concern. She didn't think he was even breathing. Until he spoke.

''I knew the guys in Newport were stupid, but I didn't know they were fucking blind.''

She smiled at him, blinding in her beautiful perfection. Ryan felt sure that the zipper of his jeans were probably warped beyond repair by his reaction to _**her**_. He was surprised that the button hadn't snapped off and flown across the room. She was **perfect**, her body as flawlessly beautiful as those white statues he remembered from the museum field trip. He stood, somewhat shakily, unable to take his eyes from her body. Those breasts **were** as magnificent as they felt, and his mouth was bone dry with the urge to taste them. Not to mention the pulse of raw lust whenever his gaze dropped below her waist. That was one peach he was **dying** to taste; literally if the burning ache in his body went on any longer. He pried his other sneaker off, opening his jeans and pulling them off with his boxers, taking his socks off with all the rest when he reached his feet. The confident smile she'd been wearing deepened into something more primal, hazel eyes locked in a downward gaze as she took in the sight of him. She reached out a hand to touch him and he felt a twinge of panic, grabbing her fingers before she could make contact.

"Not unless you want this to be over here and now.''

She licked her lips, dragging her eyes up to his face, reveling in how heavily he was breathing, how raggedly husky his voice was. Her breathing was nearly a match for his as she stared at the glory of his naked form. God, he was fantastic; and well-hung if the books and magazines she'd read had any basis in reality. She bit her lip, suddenly uncertain. For the first time in her life, Taylor didn't know what to do, didn't have a plan to quiet the thundering ache in her body. Well, she had a **plan**, vague though it was; she just didn't have any idea how to go **about** it. This was something all the books and online research couldn't begin to prepare her for and she was a little scared. Until she looked back up into his blue eyes. Her fears died as if they'd never been as she relaxed into their unspoken connection. Ryan would never hurt her, she had absolutely nothing to be frightened of. Her body reminded her that she was **naked**, that **he** was naked, that he was **touching** her. Electric flames traveled up her arm from where he gripped her hand and her nipples puckered as his gaze kept dropping to her chest. He turned away with an obvious effort, dropping her hand to pull back the sheets of the bed invitingly. She tried not to scamper **too** eagerly into the bed; the smirk on his face told her she wasn't entirely successful. Seeking revenge, she touched the tip of one finger to his hip as he got into the bed after her, tracing the muscular definition of his stomach.

He sucked in his stomach, removing his skin from the torture of her touch. Shit, she really like to play with fire, didn't she? Pulling the covers over his hips, and ignoring the slight pout she made at no longer being able to see him, Ryan leaned forward, dropping his head just before reaching her lips and planting a hard kiss on her breastbone. He smiled as she gasped in delighted wonder, already feeling the intoxication of the feel of her skin under his tongue surging through him. He moved his lips across her flesh, her hands moving down to caress his shoulders as he closed his mouth tenderly around one nipple. He caressed her hip, her side, cupping her breast in his grip as he sucked and nipped at her skin. She gasped for breath, writhing under him. He moved his mouth to the other side, sliding his hand down her body, encouraging her to lay on her back. He lifted his face from her chest as his fingers reached the bare flesh between her legs, holding onto his control with massive effort. Her hazel eyes were trusting as she nodded, moaning with a deep, animal sound as his fingers gently outlined the damp opening.

Taylor felt fire surging all around her, inside her; piercing her with blue flame and electric touch. She writhed in pleasure, running her hands down his chest excitedly. She put her arms around him, pulling at his back, wanting him closer, wanting to feel his bare skin against hers. He chuckled, deep in his throat, and kissed her softly, then more insistently as his own passion drove his tongue into her mouth. This was happening, this was **really** happening, and she greedily wanted more. His thumb pressed down on her clit and she groaned into his mouth, arching up into his touch. She clung dizzily to him as he slid a finger inside her; amazed at how much better it felt then her own ever had; late at night when she couldn't fight the urges of her body anymore. He was pressed against one side of her, braced on the elbow of his other arm; kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts as he slowly moved his finger in and out, pressing down with his thumb. She dug her fingers into his back, groaning his name in carnal pleasure.

She was so tight, he couldn't help the shudder that went through him at the thought of what it was going to feel like when he was finally inside her. Ryan pulled his mind back to the matter at hand; namely, making her come before he started what was sure to be the best fuck of his life. Finally locating the spot inside her, he added a finger, stretching her slowly, gently; massaging that spot with insistent desire as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over her clit. He panted into her neck, her breasts pushing her rock-hard nipples into his chest, her fingers were going to leave bruises in the muscles of his back if she clutched him any harder. He fought against the urge to thrust against her hip, the length of him throbbing with an aching need. Feeling her cry out, her inner muscles tensing, he raised his head to watch her face. No one else had ever seen this, he realized, moving his fingers faster and faster. No one had heard those gasping cries, those moans of release; felt the hot silk of her pouring nectar over their fingers, seen the way her face tightened in animal pleasure, the dazed look of satisfied wonder in her hazel eyes as she came back to earth.

She whimpered unashamedly as he removed his hand from between her legs, took his body away from hers. She'd never felt anything so wonderfully primal in her life as Ryan making her orgasm; she wanted him to come back and do it some more, all night long, if possible. There was a throbbing inside her, a tightening below her gut that said she wasn't done, not **nearly**. Taylor turned her head, attention caught by a the sound of tearing paper. He was kneeling up a little, rolling a condom onto himself with practiced ease. He looked at her and she felt her heart rate pick up into a stattaco beat, her breath catching as she stared wide-eyed into his eyes, full of an unstoppable, animal hunger. Not that she had **any** intention of trying to stop him, not now that he was right where she wanted him. Well, not **quite** where she wanted him; so she spread her legs as wide as she could. As an ex-gymnast, that was pretty wide, and he chuckled a bit; moving to kneel between her knees, pulling at her thighs to bring her legs to rest against his. He lowered himself onto his elbows, hovering over her with a last, questioning look. She bit her lip, nodding, wishing he'd stop being considerate and just **do** it, already. She begged him with his name.

''Ry-an.''

God, he hoped he'd be able to do this. Slowly, biting the inside of his lip for control, he eased himself into her, watching her face carefully for any sign of discomfort. She felt fucking **fantastic** and his arms started to shake at the struggle to keep his entrance slow, trying to fill her gently. But, dammit, she was so hot and tight; still slick from the orgasm he'd witnessed. It was like she was sucking him off at the same time he was fucking her. Groaning in desperation, Ryan slid a hand down to cup her ass, pulling her to him to quicken his descent into paradise. **Finally**, he was all the way in, and he rested his head against her shoulder, shaking with the effort to control the urge to just pound away at her. Yeah, he wouldn't last more than a couple strokes if he did **that**.

She rubbed her hands up and down his back, trembling with ecstasy. His breath was hot and heavy against her neck; the good, hard weight of his body pressing into her. Taylor felt like she was flying, soaring with pleasure; freed of anything but this moment, this …..activity. She felt a pulse of desire; confusing because, after all, he was **finally** inside her and it felt **wonderful**. She started kissing at his neck, pulling with her fingers at his back, instinctually encouraging him to move. He lifted his head from her neck, moving his throat away from her lips. He looked down at her in wonder, pulling at her thigh with the hand he'd been clutching her ass with. Obligingly, she wrapped her legs around his hips, moaning at the sensation of _**him**_ moving inside her.

''Taylor.''

He groaned her name in desperation, slowly pumping his hips in and out. Fuck, he wasn't going to last very long. Not with _**her**_ staring at him with those eyes, lips parted in gasping pleasure as he stroked into her. Ryan moved his hand between their thrusting bodies, briefly amazed at how easily the two of them found a matching rhythm. Right then, he had more important things to focus his last hormone-free brain cell on; like taking her over the edge with him when he fell.

She couldn't believe how **good** this felt. Shouldn't it, logically, hurt? It didn't, though, it didn't hurt at **a-l-l**. Taylor arched into him, moaning in building pleasure at how terrific this felt. She called out his name, digging her fingers into his back desperately as he began to rub his fingers over her clit in opposing strokes to that of his hips. His eyes pierced hers, she felt like his **soul** was pulsing into her in time with his flesh and she cried out again at the thought.

''Ryan!''

He started slowing his pace, feeling it building in him, in her. He was growling with the ferocity of sensation, driving deeper with each thrust; moving his hand back around to clutch her ass for much needed leverage. She clenched around him, eyes wide as she started to come and he gasped at the dizzying sensation, growling her name.

''Taylor.''

Taylor felt herself falling and soaring, every muscle clenching around him as she shouted in sheer delight.

He was able to last more than a few strokes as her orgasm swept over her and slammed into him: due primarily to the French-manicured nails buried painfully in his back.

God, wasn't he **ever** going to ……

Fuck, she was so goddamn **amazing**……

They exploded into each other, fireworks exploding in their heads, the world spinning with a new center: Room 23 of The Hacienda hotel. An eternity later, pleasure faded back from it's infinite borders, a soft voice spoke questioningly into the heavenly air.

''Ryan?''

''Hmm?''

''How does anyone do anything else?''


	4. Happy Returns

**A/N: **Finally! Sorry it took so long. Hope it's worth the wait.

-- xxxxx –

Taylor woke to sunlight, gently warm on her face. She opened her eyes, blinking, watching the light slowly build through the curtains, giving the room a soft, golden glow that she thought was **entirely** appropriate. She smiled lazily, for once not wanting to get up out of bed; unmotivated to leave the warm contentment filling her. She held herself still, just breathing, just** being**; unwilling, for the moment, to wake her still slumbering companion.

He had curled around her in the night, legs tangled together and right arm holding her tenderly against his chest. His right hand loosely gripped her right wrist where it lay tucked to her wife-beater covered chest. She snuggled her head into the pillow over the curl of her left arm, feeling his breath feather-soft against the back of her neck, hoping he hadn't put his left arm to sleep; pinned between their bodies as it was. The fabric of his boxers rubbed softly on the skin around her panties, barely moving to the rhythm of his breathing. This room was **magic**; where they'd created a perfect world, just for the two of them. She closed her eyes to the wash of memories filling her with champagne bubbles of happiness.

_ flashback _

_''How does anyone do anything else?'' Her innocently sincere question made him laugh, chuckles tickling the skin of her neck. _

_''Hell if I know.'' He moved himself off her, out of her; shifting to the side of the bed to dispose carefully of the condom. She drunk in the sight of him, blushing a little at the little red marks and scratches on his back; remembering the mindless pleasure that had overtaken her. He turned around, sliding back underneath the covers, adjusting his position so he could lay on his side, facing her. He paused in his movements, frowning as he caught sight of her face. ''Uh…..I guess I should just…….'' He made a motion to get back up, to toss the blankets aside; and she realized that he thought she wanted him to go. _

_''Stay.'' Taylor whispered, reaching out her hand to him, eyes pleading. His blue eyes searched her face, evaluating the extent of her invitation. He relaxed in her hazel gaze, extending his hand to twine his fingers with hers. He pulled her forward into his embrace with a gentle tug. _

_They settled into each other, comfortable in a way she'd never imagined she could be with another naked person, __**him**__ especially. Ryan lay on his back, right hand still tangled with her left; resting on his stomach. She draped herself over him: left leg between his, head resting on his chest, and her right arm curled around his shoulder, hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck. He ran his fingers gently through the curls of her auburn hair, apparently content to let the fire of their attraction build more slowly this time. She nuzzled her face into his chest, enjoying the masculine smell and feel of him, of being here, in this place and time; with the memory of what they'd shared only minutes old._

_Her body began to tingle again, and she started kissing her way across his skin, up towards his neck. His hand tightened in her grip, he moaned softly when she planted a kiss in the hollow of his throat. She thrilled at the sound, encouraged that she had the same effect on him that he had on her. His hands slid up to cup her head, pulling her lips towards his mouth for a desperate, hungry kiss. She returned it eagerly, shifting to lay completely atop him; wanting to feel his skin burning against hers again. _

_''Jesus, Taylor.'' Ryan moaned: blue eyes dark with passion as he caressed the skin of her back, her shoulders. He appeared unwilling, or unable, to stop her inexpert trailing of kisses along his jaw, his neck. She could feel his breathing pick up, the pulse of his heart quickening under the touch of her lips on his jugular. _

_''Ryan…..'' She pleaded for direction, raising herself up onto her elbows to watch her hands splay across his chest, gliding over his skin. She didn't like this feeling of not knowing what to do next. Taylor wasn't used to feeling anything but confident and self-assured, she was afraid she was coming off as either desperate and needy, or as a giant slut._

_''It's okay.'' His hands cupped her shoulders reassuringly. She met his understanding gaze hopefully. ''You should've seen the mess I made of my first time.'' He quirked his lips in an uncomfortable grin. ''Okay, my first seven or eight times.'' She smiled, appreciating the sacrifice of a small piece of his pride to soothe her nerves. It was all the more endearing for it's honesty. He put his palms over her hands, looking at her with tender certainty, shifting his hips under hers so she could feel what was stirring back to life under her. ''You're doing fine.'' He whispered roughly, reassuringly; eyes encouraging her to continue. _

_She nodded, feeling more thrilled at his trust than the invitation to explore his body. She shifted her hips down to straddle his upper thighs, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She smiled into his slightly sulky look at the new arrangement. An evil glint sparked in the blue, he moved his fingers over her thighs, stretching a little to touch between them with a smug expression. An expression that flickered into an amazed nervousness when she rested her palms on his hips. He froze, eyes locking onto her hands as she slowly inched her fingers closer to the length of him. _

_It twitched when she touched it, and he gasped, fingers clutching at her hips. She explored him with her fingers, curious and ever more aroused at his reaction to her caresses. Taylor ran her fingers gently along the rapidly hardening length; remembering how it felt pressed against her hip, moving inside her body: the firm satiny firebrand of his masculinity. She watched in growing excitement as it lengthened further in response to __**her**__, feeling her skin tingling, her body starting to ache. She licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry, as her fingers traveled through the hair at the base, encountering still-damp proof of their earlier passions. She lifted one hand to her face, sniffing the familiar odor of herself and another, heavier aroma that was entirely __**him**_

_Ryan groaned, watching her, chest heaving with his desire. She returned her hand to it's former position, gazing into his eyes as she rubbed her thumb softly against the tip, feeling sexy and desirable when his hips twitched upwards unconsciously. She ran her thumb feather light over the scar along the bottom of it, delighted at his increasingly desperate expression. He fisted the sheets in both hands when she shifted her hips backwards out of his grip, lowering her head slowly towards his waist. She kept her hazel gaze locked on his burning blue one, feeling wanton, wicked, and powerful beyond measure. _

_''You don't have to.'' He raggedly whispered, licking his lips excitedly; body screaming that he __**really**__ wanted her to, despite his protest. _

_''I know.'' Taylor assured him that this was what __**she**__ wanted with her tone: her lips inches from his stomach; breathing the words against his skin. He bit his lip when she placed a soft kiss on his lower abdomen, moving her head towards what one hand gently gripped upright. _

_She inhaled deeply, asking herself if she was __**really**__ sure she wanted to do this. The smell was strangely intoxicating and she swallowed roughly against a surge of arousal. Too late to back out now, girl, she told herself. Her blood was pounding in her ears, throbbing damply between her legs, driving her onward. She carefully stuck out her tongue, tasting the tip briefly. It was strangely different than the taste of the rest of his skin, more primal, somehow. He tensed, hands clenching white in the sheets, moaning her name. She was delighted with her success, excited by his reaction and her own surprising enjoyment of this activity. She dragged her tongue softly up his shaft, watching him arch his head backwards, closing his eyes in enjoyment. The sight thrilled her, sending another, stronger pulse of desire quivering through her. This was fun, torturing him like this, but she wanted to feel him inside her again. __**Now**_

_Taylor crawled rapidly up his body; stretching eagerly for the nightstand. His eyes were briefly concerned, then amused. She would've been irritated at his amusement if she hadn't been so focused on what she was doing. His hands steadied her shaking ones, guiding her fingers in the unfamiliar task of rolling the protection onto his length. Ryan's breath was coming in huge, desperate gasps as she caressed the latex over him; making sure of the fit. He gripped her waist tightly, eyes watching her face excitedly as they co-operated in moving her into place. Their hands met, holding it steady as she lowered herself eagerly onto it; moaning desperately at the blissful sensation. _

_''Oh, God! Ryan!'' _

_She gasped out in pleasure, tremblingly planting her palms against his waist for balance. This felt as good as it had before, thrillingly different and __**just**__ as gut-wrenchingly ecstatic. She twitched her hips, feeling him move inside her; building the fires inside her with roaring swiftness. She ran her hands caressingly up her own body, settling herself more firmly into this new position. Groaning, feeling her orgasm climbing into existence, she arched her back, teasing her own breasts with her hands. He moaned beneath her, watching her with darkly intense eyes, one hand gripping her hip with a guiding pressure. She felt the other thumb pressing into her clit, shooting little lightning strokes of pleasure into the coming storm. _

_She cried out as her orgasm ripped through her; somehow all the more intense, knowing he was watching her come. He didn't stop his stimulation, thrusting upwards briefly just as she was reaching the apex of it. She shouted his name, twisting her hands into her hair, unable to think, blind in her sheer enjoyment of their united bodies. Before the sensations of her orgasm even started to fade, Ryan gripped her around the waist; lifting her up and down to create the desired friction. She moaned, following his lead and moving energetically in the newly stimulating manner. He growled her name, thrusting a bit, as she clutched desperately at his wrists, trying to keep herself upright in the dizzying swirl of pleasure._

_They moved faster and faster, finding their rhythm nearly instantly; panting with the sensations exploding between them. Taylor's hands slid shakily down his arms to brace against his shoulders, falling to her elbows, as her arms wouldn't hold her up any longer. She whimpered when he raised his head, catching a nipple in his hot mouth. His hands gripped her ass firmly, holding her in place as he moved upwards with increasingly powerful thrusts. She moved her hips frantically back and forth; closing her eyes as he continued to torture her breasts with his open-mouthed kisses. He dropped his head finally back against the pillows, her name barely recognizable in his hoarse gasping. _

_She opened her eyes, looking down at Ryan biting the inside of his lip, watching her desperately. Waiting for her to come, she realized. The knowledge of his consideration was the final push, sending her over the edge, higher than she'd ever gone before. She spasmed and clenched around him, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she cried out in the wondrous surge of her orgasm; watching his face as, with one or two final, arching thrusts, he followed her into ecstasy. She collapsed against him, feeling his hands stroking shakily, calmingly, up and down her back. Tingling aftershocks jolted through her, eventually fading into the calm ease of the afterglow. An eternity later, she moved her head slightly to kiss his neck gratefully. _

_''Does it keep getting better like that?'' Taylor whispered against his skin, a little awestruck by the strength of what was being created between them. He laughed, hugging her to him, as if unwilling to ever release her. _

_''I don't know.'' His voice was shaky, he sounded confused and uneasy. He cupped her cheek, raising her face to stare searchingly into her eyes. Whatever he was opening his mouth to say, running his thumb over her lip tenderly; was interrupted by the growl of his stomach. They both burst out laughing, nearing hysterics when her stomach gave an answering rumble. ''I think we should eat something before trying to find out, though.'' He quipped, letting his arms fall to either side, freeing her to move. _

_ end flashback _

Taylor sighed dreamily, remembering the fun they'd had the rest of the night; and not just the other times the heat between them had flared up, consuming them. She felt him stir behind her, nuzzling the back of her neck as he woke. His body tensed briefly, tightening his grip around her wrist and she felt suddenly uncertain in his arms. What if he'd changed his mind? What he thought of this as just a one night stand? His lips pressed firmly at the tiny bump at the top of her spine, she felt a smile stretch his mouth against her skin. And maybe it'll be alright, she scolded herself. She felt ashamed of her doubts, rolling over to kiss him good morning; wanting to feel their connection burn away her fears.

''Morning.'' Ryan murmured against her mouth, feeling that something was off, but not quite sure what it was.

He pulled back to gaze into the hazel pools and his concerns dwindled and died in the purity of her affectionate look. She was just waking up, idiot, he told himself; nothing's wrong. He freed her wrist, moving up onto his left elbow, brushing silken strands of auburn out of her face tenderly. He knew what to call this feeling inside him, this calming center where Taylor lived; but he just didn't think he was ready to give name to it, to bring reality into their little one-room paradise. He caressed her cheek, lowering his lips to hers for a deeper kiss; covering her body with his. Her hands tangled into his hair as she opened herself to him, passion flaring up between them once again.

''Senorita? …..oh…..''

They both looked panting towards the door, the maid standing there in her white dress, clutching a pile of towels to her chest. She sat them quickly on the nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp, and backed, wide-eyed, into the door, scrabbling at the handle with one hand. She pulled the 'Do Not Disturb' sign he hadn't even **seen** last night off the back of the door and hung it firmly around front, slamming the barrier shut primly after her. Taylor chuckled against his chest, erupting into full-blown laughter at his outraged look. Mood officially broken, he shook his head, rolling away from her. He rubbed at his face, feeling an frustrating mix of embarrassment and lust. He supposed it was a mercy that the blankets and underclothes she'd insisted they put on last night had given them some modesty. All he needed was to be arrested for indecent exposure or immoral conduct or something; not only would Sandy be justifiably pissed, but, more importantly, Seth would never, **ever**, let him forget it. He didn't even want to **imagine** Kirsten's probable reaction.

''We should probably find breakfast, anyway.'' Taylor suggested, tossing aside the bedclothes and heading, unashamed, to the bathroom. He felt his stomach clench at the sight, suddenly desperate to have her yet again. He could offer to share the shower, conservation of water made a good excuse. Before he could even suggest it, she whirled around, holding up a finger warningly. ''Separate showers; you know if we share, we'll never leave the room, and I'm hungry.''

'' So am I.'' He growled teasingly at her, running his eyes lustfully over her body. God, she was pure torture, standing there with her hair beautifully mussed in his wife-beater and a pair of flowered panties. He threw back the covers and stood to go after her. She squealed and darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. He went over and tested the handle, grinning when he found it was locked. ''Tay-lor.'' He sing-songed through the door, knowing that she wasn't afraid of him; that she was afraid she wouldn't be able to control herself **around** him. It was flattering and hot as hell; especially with how unbelievingly fucking sexy** she** was.

She didn't answer, turning the water on to drown him out. Smirking, knowing she'd have to come out eventually, Ryan looked around the room. Crumpled wrappers and empty bottles of water covered the table, clothes and towels were scattered all over the floor. After stepping painfully onto her hairbrush, he decided that he might as well pick up the mess. Images flowed over him as he straightened the room, remembering fondly how it had gotten in this condition.

_flashback _

_Taylor climbed off of him; casually naked as she went over to pull stuff out of the mini-fridge. He looked over from discarding the condom, feeling his stomach tighten with a very __**different**__ kind of hunger as she bent to see into the honor bar. Only the fact that he was starving (and that he'd just __**had**__ the most unbelievable pair of fucks in his life) kept him from bending her over the counter, or the table, or up against……Christ. He stood up, feeling like a sex maniac as he looked for where he'd dropped his pants. _

_''Maybe we should get dressed.'' _

_She turned at his words, expression curious; changing to a startled realization when he began digging his boxers out of his jeans. She went into the bathroom, blushing a little. He shook his head as he put his boxers on. She was such a mix of teasing flirt, innocent little girl, and mind-blowing sexpot. He fished his cell phone and wallet out of his jeans pockets and added them to the pile of stuff on the nightstand. There weren't any messages, thankfully. It appeared things were going well for his brother, for a change. Of course, he thought, watching her come out of the bathroom wearing a robe and looking unbearably corruptible; my night's not so bad, either. _

_She started chatting at him as they ate, entertaining in a way that was just __**her**__. Ryan found himself actually enjoying her conversation as much as he had her body. They talked about their families, the stupid and useless Newport people (except the Cohen's), movies, books, music, favorite things. He told her how he'd come to live with Seth's family, she told him about the most horrifying cruel fucking bitch in existence: who was unfortunately, her mother. By mutual unspoken consent, they avoided any mention of the future, of what would happen when they returned to Orange County. That was then, this was now; and they both wanted to make the most of every passing second._

_He was glad to see Taylor had a normal appetite; none of this picking at her food like some girls did. They worked their way through the cold sandwiches, microwave burritos, and assorted snacks; cleaning out the room's food supply in a couple of hours. He leaned his head into one palm, avidly watching her lick frosting from some kind of pastry off her fingers. Remembering what __**else**__ she'd been licking with that tongue made his mouth water. He must've made some noise, wondering how the hell he was going to get her back into bed, because she stopped, focusing innocent hazel eyes on him. _

_''I'm all sticky.'' She blushed as he raised his eyebrows, smirking, at the apparently unintended innuendo of her words. She recovered quick, though; standing and smiling invitingly at him. ''Scrub my back?'' she asked him, voice pure seduction. _

_His brain was fogging over fast, thinking of her standing under the spray, soap sliding over her skin, under his fingers. She undid the robe, dropping it to the floor behind her as she went, oddly enough, to the nightstand. She grabbed some condoms, giving him a smoldering look over one shoulder. Ryan smiled in relief at her practicality, wondering why he couldn't have met __**her**__, instead of wasting his time with drama bitch. He suddenly felt like he was dirtying something sacred, thinking of the other girl in __**this**__ room. He stood, practically yanking his boxers off, shoving aside all thought of anyone but Taylor. It wasn't hard, truthfully; especially when he heard the shower start up._

_Taylor was putting shampoo into her hair when he joined her and, unlike some girls he'd had; didn't seem to have any problems letting him take over the chore. She soaped them both up as he worked his fingers into her hair, obviously hoping to get to the good stuff quickly. He was amused and flattered by her impatient belief he could recover so fast. Although, rinsing her hair out, feeling her hands mapping his body eagerly; he felt himself start to stir __**much**__ sooner than he'd thought possible. Whether it was a combination of a long-held fantasy (washing a girl's hair: sometimes he thought Trey had been right, and there was something wrong with him) and the way she looked soaking wet; or just the effect she had on him: he didn't care. All that mattered was her hands on his skin, the slick feel of her in his arms as he kissed her. _

_He felt it overtaking him again, that flare of animal need surging to the front of his brain and boiling away anything else except __**her**__. He pushed her back against the wall, locking his mouth over hers, trying to pull her into him with his tongue; tugging insistently on her suddenly reluctant thigh. She kept pulling it out of his grip, frustrated, he pulled his mouth away from hers, feeling like an idiot when she reminded him about the condoms. He blessed her practicality then, and again (after some heartfelt cursing) when the spray knocked the first two out of his fingers.__** Finally**__, with her blocking the spray for him, he got himself covered. Ryan lifted her easily, kissing her over and over; groaning into the side of her neck as he slid into her for the third time. _

_How did he ever __**live**__ without this? This silken heat wrapped around him, pressed breathless against him: this blinding pleasure kissing his neck, his shoulder; digging her nails into his spine, squeezing his hips with her thighs. He grabbed her ass with both hands, knowing from experience how useless it was to try to brace them on the walls. His fingers pressed into her legs, those special spots where the curve of her ass started. Taylor gasped in startled pleasure at the sensation; kissing and sucking at his neck. She was going to be imprinted on him for life, he mused to himself, turned on by the concept. He bit gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard, taken suddenly with the thought of marking __**her**__; making her __**his**_

_Ryan groaned, overwhelmed not only by the carnal sensations; but by what he was feeling; unsure if he was trying to escape the emotions or bury himself in them. She started shuddering in his grip, calling out his name in a pleading, desperate voice. Feeling her climax around him sent him tumbling over the edge and he shouted her name as he came, locking his knees so he wouldn't fall on his ass in the limb-trembling aftermath. God, it __**did**__ keep getting better. He was almost __**afraid**__ to fuck her again, thinking it could quite possibly __**kill**__ him. He separated from his own personal heaven, easing her to her feet and steadying her as she staggered a little. _

_He dried quickly, wrapping a shivering Taylor in terrycloth and carrying her to the bed. She rubbed vigorously at her hair until the towel was too wet to be useful, he watched her untangling the snarls with her fingers, recovering. He stood and looked through the top drawers of the dresser, handing her the brush with a smile. He lay on the bed propping his head up with one arm, watching her brush her hair. It shouldn't be __**hot**__, he knew. It couldn't __**possibly**__ be turning him on, but it was. What the __**hell**__ was it about this girl? The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to share with her; to have her share with him. Every time he buried himself inside her, the more it felt like home, like he belonged there. The more he got, the more he wanted. _

_**Shit**__, he was fucking __**addicted**__; how had __**that**__ happened? He'd always known it was a possibility: Dawn had her booze, Trey had his pot, Frank had his fucked-up plans; he'd thought he'd skated on the family curse. I didn't know you could get hooked on a__** person**__, he protested internally. Too bad, too late, his mind laughed at him; you're done for now, Ry. _

_The only upside was that she was watching __**him**__, too; eyeing him with obvious longing, then biting her lip and turning away. Apparently, he wasn't the only one having problems handling their lust. She just shouldn't look so mother fucking __**hot**__, wrapped in a towel with another one draped over her shoulders: it's not __**fair**__, his body moaned, stirring. Fuck it. Better yet, fuck __**her**__. He scooted closer, smiling when her back tensed and she stiffened her neck, refusing to look at him. She was teasing, flirting with him again; pretending she hadn't been checking him out through the damp curtain of auburn. He sat up behind her, sliding the towel from around her shoulders and tossing it aside. Before she could say anything, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against his bare chest, kissing along her shoulder. _

_''Ryan!'' Taylor giggled, smacking his hands playfully with her brush; acting irritated at his attempts to pull the towel out from around her body. ''We just took a shower!''_

_''Just making sure you're __**all**__ clean.'' He murmured against her neck, gently kissing the hickey he'd given her. He wanted, suddenly, to give her another, and another; until she was __**covered**__ with marks that declared property of Ryan Atwood'. He tightened his grip briefly, just holding her for a moment until the surge of something he didn't dare to name passed. He slid his hands down her body, caressing her, fingering her inner thighs teasingly, breathing heavily into her ear when she leaned back against him. ''Make sure we scrubbed __**everywhere**__.'' _

_She tossed the brush violently away to bounce off the wall over the dresser, surging to her feet. Ryan was briefly worried he'd pissed her off, read her wrong, somehow. She whirled around, yanking the towel off and dropping it on the growing pile of cloth on the floor. He couldn't help the grin, or the smug chuckle, when she pounced on him; knocking him back onto the bed and attacking his face with her lips. Yeah, I'm definitely __**not**__ the only one who can't get enough, he thought, rolling Taylor over so she lay beneath him, kissing her fiercely. He dragged his mouth from hers reluctantly, moving down her throat to her shoulders, lower; needing to buy his body time to catch up with his libido. _

_He cupped her breasts, sucking hard and playing with her nipples until she started tugging at the towel around his waist. Girl just can't wait for it, he mused to himself smugly. She needs to learn some patience. He surrendered the towel to her grip, amused as he saw her send it flying towards the window out of the corner of his eyes. Moving downward before she could return her hands to his body, he smirked against her stomach at the sound of her softly wondering 'oh'. She spread her legs for him, not quite as wide as she had, that first time; but __**just**__ as eagerly anticipating. She ran her fingers tenderly through his hair, caressingly. _

_He rested his forehead against her hip, overcome with the smell of her, and the returning thought that he was the first to __**see**__ this, smell it, taste __**her**__. Ryan had taken a lot of teasing, back in Chino; at being so willing to go down on a girl. You are what you eat, Trey had mocked him. He'd figured, at the time, that it was a good rep to have; the girls certainly had never protested, and they always wanted to return the favor, later. Now, however, his only thought was to make __**Taylor**__ feel good, to pay her back for this gift she was giving him; letting him be the first (he wanted despairingly to be the __**only**__) one to witness, to __**cause**__, her orgasms. _

_The first touch of his tongue to her arched her body like she'd been hooked up to a live wire. He moaned at the taste of her, breathing in her scent; hands shaking as his fingers spread her open under his mouth. He devoured her, teeth scrapping gently over the sensitive folds, tongue plunging deeper and deeper. Feeling her contract and shudder against his lips, the slightly salty, familiarly unique flavor that flowed over his teeth: his sense were overloading, again, with __**her**__. Her guttural cries of astonished pleasure, the way she gripped painfully at his scalp; it all sent burst after burst of raw animal need through his body. He slid his fingers inside, stroking her desperately as he sucked on her clit; wanting her to come __**before**__ he sought his own climax. _

_Sooner than he thought, she was clenching around his fingers, calling his name and damn near pulling his hair out. He kissed his way slowly, wanderingly, up her body, continuing to move his fingers torturously back and forth, replacing the pressure of his mouth with his thumb. He pretty much __**snatched**__ the last condom from the first box off the nightstand, knocking the empty box carelessly to the floor. Maybe they should pick up another two or three boxes, if they were going to keep on like this, he thought. It didn't seem as important as continuing the movement of his fingers inside Taylor (who was muttering to herself in what he thought was French as she writhed, fisting the sheets) while opening the condom and putting it on, one-handed. _

_When he removed his hand, her eyes snapped open to pierce him with a hazel lust burning at least as wildly as his own. She tugged at his forearms as he knelt between her thighs, whimpering with her desire for him. The air was almost visible with the smell of musk, he was breathing heavily through his mouth in a vain attempt not to let it affect him. Ryan tried to keep his entry slow, wanting this time to last, knowing it would be the night's final round. His first stumbling block was when she grabbed him roughly by the ears, apparently uncaring of the taste of her own juice as she crashed her mouth into his, shoving her tongue between his lips. The second was the way she bucked her hips, wrapping her legs around his waist and arching; trying to take him deeper inside of her. The third, most potent, was everything else: the feel of __**her**__, the sight of __**her**__, the sound and smell and taste; it was the knowledge that this was __**Taylor**__ that sent cracks through his control, splintering it like a dam about to burst. He groaned, shuddering with need and want, lust and lo…… Redirecting his will to prevent the thought from finishing, the dam of his control gave way._

_He lost it, for the first time __**ever**__ since he'd taken control of a fuck, he completely __**lost**__ it. Crushing her beneath him, he cupped the back of her head in his right hand, wrapping his left arm around her waist to grip her left hip tightly; pining both his arms to the mattress under their weight. He began to thrust near-violently, burying his face in her neck, knowing he wouldn't be able to last a __**second**__ if he saw the pleasure bursting in her eyes. He moaned her name repeatedly, gaspingly, almost brokenly, against her skin. Taylor squeezed her legs tighter around his waist; arching into him, digging her fingers into the flesh of his shoulders as she shouted his name in response to his cries. She didn't seem to have any problem with the way this one was going, judging by how enthusiastically she was responding to him. Everything was spinning, exploding; Ryan lost track of anything else but the feel of __**her**__ wrapped around him, the feel of __**her**__ in his arms. He told himself it was sweat that pricked his eyes as they climaxed in perfect unison: that his throat was raw from crying out in sheer physical ecstasy. _

_ end flashback _

Ryan shook his head at the wonder of her, pulling on his jeans. He was still amazed that she'd forgiven him for letting loose on her like that, that she'd enjoyed it. Of course, she **had** confessed he wasn't the only one out-of control. Which he'd **thought,** but it was nice to have the confirmation. He put on his shirt, buttoning it over his bare chest; smiling at the remembered image of **her**, somewhat wobbly, moving across to room in just her panties, to claim his wife-beater as the 'perfect' pajama top. He rubbed his forearm where she had, exasperated with his continued attempts to apologize; twisted his arm to the point of pain. Proving absolutely that, **yes**, Taylor could very **definitely** have stopped him last night, if she'd wanted to. If she'd wanted to, she'd said, reminding him of her two black belts; she could very definitely have put him into the **hospital**. He'd agreed, sitting there later in his boxers, as she'd gotten ready for bed, hazy in the realization that this thing between them was mutually desired; lethargic not from the (mother-fucking goddam fantastic **life**-altering) sex, but the heavy, dragging reluctance to leave. Until she'd off-handedly told him to turn off the light **when** he came to bed, snuggling with apparent exhaustion into her pillow and adoringly confident in her assumption that he was staying. Best sleep of his life, last night.

He picked up his cell phone, smile fading as he saw there was a message. Shit. Ryan played the thing back, hoping to hell nothing had happened while he'd been enjoying himself, enjoying Taylor. He'd never forgive himself if Seth'd been hurt, or worse, while he was off fall….getting laid.

_''Hey, Ryan. Can't help but notice you're not in the room.'' _Seth's voice was slightly worried, but mostly teasing. _''Hope she's hot, whomever she is. And, hey, I'll catch you for the walk of shame in the morning, maybe share some war stories over breakfast?'' _He felt a little guilt at worrying the other; but, goddam it, he wasn't **used** to anyone caring where he was, or what he was doing. _''Anyway, dude, just have a good time, __**I**__ certainly did.'' _He knew** that** didn't mean what it sounded like. If Summer had taken Seth to bed, it would've been the first sentence on the message. And the second, third, and fourth; come to think of it.

Taylor came out of the bathroom, pulling towels from the pile he'd moved from the nightstand onto the dresser during his neatening up. His eyes followed her helplessly, hypnotically, around the room as he deleted the message, frowning a little. Granted, he needed a change of clothes (part of him was hoping they needed some more condoms) but he didn't want to put up with Seth's teasing questions, and he selfishly didn't want to share the wonder of (whatever the fuck was going on with) this girl with anyone else. **Least** of all, affection for the guy aside, the chatter monkey he lived with.

''Ryan?'' He focused his gaze more fully on her, hands stuffed into the pockets of the robe he'd retrieved from the floor and laid across the bed. She wasn't even** trying** to be hot, and she could've burnt the hotel down, standing there all squeaky clean and mouth-wateringly fuckable. All thoughts of taking her back to bed for the rest of the day (hell for the rest of the **week**, school be damned) fled when she spoke, hazel eyes hugely sincere. ''We need to talk.''


	5. Heart to Heart

**A/N: ** Thanks to all my lovely readers. Sorry about the wait, hope you like it.

-- xxx –

The look on his face when she said they needed to talk almost changed her mind. She'd tried, she'd really, really tried, **not** to think while taking her shower; or to think **only** of Ryan in the next room, hungering for her. But she wanted this, **all **of this that they were doing, and for **more** than a weekend. Taylor had gazed into the mirror for a long moment, deciding. She could either let things go, let the situation snarl itself into a huge mess; or they could talk. Of course to a guy, especially a guy like Ryan, talking wasn't a good.

''For someone who wants to talk, you're awful quiet.'' She realized that while she was thinking, trying to figure out if she **was** making the right decision; he had been getting more and more nervous. He stood up from where he'd been sitting on the bed, setting his cell phone carefully on the nightstand, as if it might break, as if **he** might break. He faced her, blue eyes wary, arms crossed over his chest defensively. He looked scared. And hot, but she was trying not to think about **that** right now.

''Well, I know we have this little unspoken agreement not to talk about what happens next, but that's a little out of character, for me. I'm not usually the spontaneous type, and this is all moving so fast and I just want to see if I can understand what's going on before we decide if we ……'' He interrupted her babbling, thankfully, or she quite possibly could have gone on all day.

''Are you…'' his voice cracked, his eyes flicked towards the bed and back to her looking, of all things, vulnerable ''Are you sorry? That we…..?'' He practically whispered it, gaze equal parts fear and hope. Her eyes widened in horror, realizing what he thought she meant.

''No!'' She took a couple steps forward in her rush to reassure, trembling in the urge to **show** him how much she still desired him. They didn't seem to have any misunderstandings when it came to **that**, after all. She restrained herself. Barely. ''No, last night was……it was amazing and wonderful and terrific and I wouldn't trade it for anything and don't you see? That's the problem.'' She felt terrible, like a horrible person, because she was obviously hurting and confusing him; but if she didn't say this, she was a liar and, worse: someone who used people like toys, and that just wasn't someone she wanted to be, ever. ''I **want** this, **beyond** this weekend, or I don't want it at **all**. And since I can't **have** it…..'' Taylor choked on the reason why she could never have what she wanted, the danger that he couldn't see hovering over him.

''Why not?'' He took a step closer to her, dropping his arms to his sides, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what she was saying. Just before she tore her eyes away in shame at her actions, she saw a flicker of anger in his gaze. He stepped back, huffing his breath in what sounded like both a growl and an abbreviated sob. ''I thought you were different.'' He practically spat the words at her, and she looked up, astonished, to see him blazing fury at her. Ryan turned away, stalking over to his socks and shoes; but not before she'd seen how deeply she'd hurt him. He snarled at her, covering his pain with rage, turning his socks inside out and yanking them on. ''Was any of it really **you**? Or are you just a good **fucking** actress?'' She flinched at his language, and was suddenly angry at **him**. How could he just assume that she was rejecting him for his past? It was like they'd never connected at all.

''I don't want you to go to **jail**!'' She yelled, glaring hazel into his blue startlement. ''I don't want to go to an **insane** asylum! You think** my** mother will let us see each other? That she'll let me see **anyone** she didn't personally pick out?'' She dropped her eyes to the floor, hunching into herself at how much this was hurting. Once begun, though, she knew it would take some kind of effort on his part to stop her ranting. Especially on **this** subject, because she never got the chance to let out, to anyone, the things she wanted to say about her mother. ''Even if she doesn't manage to **convict** you for rape, you'll still be lucky if** all** you lose is the Cohen's. **Me** she'll send to boarding school** only** if the nut hatch won't take me, and don't think for a **minute** she'll be kind enough to send me to one in the same** state**, let alone the same **country**, as **you**.'' Taylor felt her breath hitch, irritated at the tears she could feel building behind her eyes. She didn't want to cry, but this hurt so very, **very** much. If only he would go, so she could pull the pieces of her life back together. So she could stop talking about it, thinking about it: what she was giving up for **both** their sakes. ''She's **horrible**, she takes everything away from me, for no reason at all; and I don't want her to take **this**…...''

He put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her into his arms. She shouldn't take this, she shouldn't let him comfort her. She couldn't resist, though; and really didn't want to. She put her arms around him, feeling him hold her tenderly, laying her head against his shoulder. Ryan rubbed her back soothingly, breath warming her ear. They stood there until her trembling stopped, until she no longer felt the urge to weep. He felt so good, holding her; maybe she could still have the rest of the weekend? No, it was better to make the break now, rather than try and disengage later, in Newport, with the gossip mavens circling. Less dangerous to them both.

''Can we just not tell her?'' She sighed heavily. The boy really didn't know who he was talking about. Not his fault, really; her mother was a disaster that had to be** seen** to be believed.

''She'll find out, she **always** finds out.'' She squeezed him a little tighter, trying to convey that she wasn't being paranoid about this. Her mother really **was** out to get her, to make her life completely miserable. She had the experience to prove it. ''It's not that she follows me around or hires people to spy on me; it's just a combination of the rumor mill and how widely she's connected. She's in all these clubs and associations, even though she goes out of town a lot, so she knows everyone in town and I mean, people just **love** to gossip, you must have noticed by now; and since she's the head of the Parent's Association, which deals periodically with the Student Council, she's even got an in on the **student** gossip. She ….''

''What if we don't tell anyone else, either?'' She pulled back to look into his face, surprised at the suggestion. She'd been so distracted by the consequences of her mother finding out that she hadn't even considered …..

''A clandestine liaison? Tres romantic!'' Taylor bit her lip, considering the idea. It would be hard, it would be** really** hard, but it would **absolutely** be worth it. And the satisfaction of putting one over on her mother……..She had to warn him of the biggest danger to the plan, though. ''You wouldn't be able to tell Seth, then.'' She was a little ashamed of her disappointment at not being able to gloat to Marissa, either. If she got to have Ryan, though, not being able to brag to Harbor's social scene would be **more** than worth it. The idea of having _**him**_ all to herself, a secret lover, was starting to excite her, the components of the scheme clicking into place in the back of her brain.

''Yeah? Because that really works for me.'' His voice was eager, excited even, and he grinned at her suspicious expression. Seth was his best friend, and he didn't want to tell him? The horrid thought he might be ashamed of her was derailed by his next words. "Hey, he may be my brother, but he's a worse gossip than any Newpsie.''

''Newpsie.'' She giggled at the term, feeling giddy from the realization that, yes, she could have this. Yes, Taylor, she thought joyfully to herself, there **is** a happily ever after. Well, maybe not **ever** after; that was going a bit far, but longer than the weekend. As long as they could keep her mother in the dark, which meant keeping **everyone** in the dark……She frowned. They couldn't fool everyone forever, could they? She felt her fears building and pushed them harshly aside. Did she want this or didn't she? She rested her head on his shoulder again, sighing. ''We'll eventually have to come up with something to sell my mother on the idea; no secret can be kept forever.''

''True, look at Jimmie Cooper.'' She snickered at the accuracy of his quip. She snuggled into him, treasuring the intimacy of his embrace, of his humor. ''We'll think of something.'' Ryan murmured into her hair, hands rubbing her back in a different manner than before. He couldn't possibly be……..his lips touched her neck, her jaw; and she felt her skin tingling with the now-familiar electricity. They couldn't do this, but she couldn't for the life of her remember why, at that moment.

''Ryan……'' Why didn't she want him too, again? Oh, yeah. Breakfast. ''Aren't you hungry?'' **She** was, ravenously so; and then she wanted some eggs, preferably as an omelet. No, wait, she was supposed to be** stopping** him………why, again?

''Starving.'' The husky implications of his voice vibrated through her, setting her insides quivering. He caressed her jaw with his mouth, claiming her lips with a hungry kiss. Jolts of energy surged through her, driving her to pull his shirt from out of his jeans. Wait, there was something……….she gasped for air, tilting her head back to let him trail kisses down her neck.

''We….we have to……'' His hands were on the belt of her robe, tugging at the knot. How had her hands gotten on his shoulders? She pushed a little, protesting his actions physically, since she couldn't seem to manage it verbally. Amazedly, he stopped, pulling his head away from her throat with an expression that Taylor could tell was supposed to be innocent, but just looked naughty. And hot, massively so, darn it.

''We had a fight.'' Ryan sounded pleading, maybe even a little whiny. He smiled at her, blue eyes twinkling evilly, before dipping his head to her neck again. It was cheating, the way he kept her blood roaring in her head, making it hard for her to think. ''Don't we have to make up, now?'' Her robe fell open, admitting his hands to gently stroke her stomach, caress her hips, and pull her against him by the small of her back. Making up suddenly sounded like the absolute **perfect** thing to do.

She ran her hands over his shoulders, letting him push her back towards the bed, robe hanging precariously from her elbows. His hands were all over her back, setting her skin on fire with his touch, calling her to life with the pressure of his body against her front. She felt the bed against the back of her legs just as he slid a hand around to glide up her ribs and cup her breast to his mouth. She moaned, falling backwards with pleasure, letting him lower her to the mattress. She tugged at his shirt, wanting to kiss him again. He moved up her body, hand still feathering caresses over her chest, open mouthed in his appreciation of her neck and jaw. She kissed him fiercely, sucking at his tongue, his bottom lip. Her hands were fumbling at his shirt buttons, she could feel his smile against her mouth. She lost patience, yanking.

The pattering sound of tiny plastic buttons was distant and unimportant as she ran her hands over his (finally!) bare chest and stomach, kissing her way down his throat. Let **him** feel how distracting that is, she thought vindictively, easing her fingers under his jeans, under the elastic of his boxers. Ryan moaned, then pushed her away gently. What the heck…..? Oh. He grabbed the condoms off the nightstand, ripping into the second box that she'd purchased. Enthusiastically, she quickly opened his jeans, running her hands under his boxers to cup him, caress him with her tender fingers.

''Shit.'' He cursed, tossing the condoms carelessly aside. For a minute, she was worried, but then she saw he still had one in his hand. She pushed at the fabric containing him, trying to help him get ready. He covered himself quickly, almost frantically, and she pulled at his hips encouragingly. Bracing on his elbows, he placed both hands over her breasts, raising his eyebrows teasingly as she gasped, arching into the contact. Slowly, he slid into her, filling her with his solid presence, making her shake with building pleasure.

''Ryan, oh my god, Ryan ….'' Taylor pleaded with him, bucking her hips to match his pace, which she felt was far, far too slow. He groaned her name and she levered herself up, catching his lips with hers. He pined her to the bed with the return of her kiss, picking up his pace satisfactorily. She gripped him by the waist, digging her fingers into his back, soaring with ecstasy. His fingers clenched on her breasts, thumbs rubbing insistently on her nipples. He trailed kisses back to her ear, whispering her name like a prayer as her orgasm overtook her. She shouted in joy as he drove deeper, harder; clutching him to her as they moved in perfect harmony to the world's most ancient rhythm.

-- xxx –

Ryan walked down the street, looking for someplace that was serving breakfast. He passed several hung over teenagers at the pharmacy, watching them compare cures as he picked up a couple more boxes of condoms. He made sure they were the same brand Taylor had picked out, pulling the newer ones from the back; checking the expiration dates. Shit, her common sense must be catching, he'd never before even** thought** about looking at the date on a box of condoms. Now, here he was, wondering if hot water and soap had an effect on spermicide and if her birth control pills would have some weird interaction with it. Of course, given they couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other, contagious common sense would not be a **bad** thing.

He couldn't believe how hard it had been to leave, to walk out the door, even knowing he'd be back by lunch. **Before** lunch, if he had his say. He was hitting the restaurants first, knowing that if he went for his clothes with the image of how he'd left her (laying on the bed, disheveled and glowing with the lazy satisfaction of the just-fucked) in his head; he'd be on his way back to her arms the minute his hand closed around the strap of his bag. He was just about to pass a doorway when he heard Summer's voice. Peeking in, he saw her sharing a table with Seth.

They were, predictably enough, arguing over the menu choices. He didn't want to referee another of their battles, but there was **coffee** on that table, and he could smell **eggs** and_** bacon**_. Mouth watering, he threaded his way through the tables, feeling like his stomach was reaching up his throat to strangle him, demanding food. So, when he reached his goal, he addressed the waitress instead of his friends.

''((Please excuse the children, ma'am, the girl hasn't realized she's in love yet.))'' The waitress smiled back at him, raising her eyebrows a little at the state of his shirt. He flushed a bit under her teasing look and ordered his breakfast. Dazed out of their quarrel by his sudden entrance, the brunettes made their own orders.

''Hey, Chino.'' Summer greeted him, frowning at his attire as he took his seat. ''What happened to your shirt?'' He gave her a look, grinning into his coffee as he sipped. What did she **think** happened to his shirt? She slapped the back of her hand softly against his arm as she put it together. ''Ewww. Spare us the details, then.''

''Speak for yourself, Summer.'' Seth wilted under her glare. ''Uhm, maybe you could fill me in later?'' He grinned, shaking his head, and was about to explain, when he heard a familiar voice squeal his name. And the morning **had** been going so well, he thought.

''Ryan!" Marissa was coming towards him, arms opening to hug him. He felt bile surge up at the thought of her touching him, erasing the memory of Taylor's hands. He raised his arm to prevent her, keeping his face as impassive as he could with distaste creeping along his skin. ''We were so worried, are you okay?'' At his frown, she smirked at him. ''Because you were gone all night, drinking. That's a little dangerous, you know.'' Well, that showed what she thought of him. She was still making like she was going to touch him, too. Stupid bitch, what was it going to take to get her to back off?

''Could you not touch me?'' Ryan spoke as bluntly as possible, letting his distaste and frustration with her antics color his voice. He still saw her misunderstand the protest, apparently thinking that he was afraid of being unable to resist her. She really did have an ego the size of L.A., dammit. Her eyes glittered with satisfaction underneath the glaze of her hangover. She pouted her lip artfully, acting hurt, as Luke came up behind her. And now here comes her pit bull, he thought. Great.

''I was just showing concern for a friend.'' She sulked at him, smiling a bit as Luke joined them, putting his arms possessively around her waist. From the look on her face, she expected him to react, to be jealous. He was so sick of the whole situation. All he wanted to do was eat, grab his clothes, and get back to Taylor. Was that so fucking much to ask?

''How about showing some loyalty to your boyfriend?'' He turned away, more concerned with the arrival of the food than her little games. The girl waiting for him didn't play any games, he mused, starting into his breakfast. There was an uncomfortable silence, then Summer greeted her friends.

''Why don't you two join us for breakfast?'' He stifled a moan at the thought, wondering if Seth would eventually forgive him if he just strangled the girl. She earned his instant forgiveness as, with a conspiratal look at Seth, they scooted closer to him; leaving the other two teens no option but to take the seats across the table. He could handle not sitting next to Marissa, now if only he could finish eating so he didn't have to look at her, either.

''Guess you don't get hung over, huh, Chino?'' Luke clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion as he took his seat. Ryan would've appreciated the gesture more, surprising as it was, if the guy hadn't managed to catch him **right** on one of the scratches from last night. He winced, rubbing at his shoulder under the shirt. At least they weren't deep enough to bleed.

''You don't have to hit him so hard.'' Marissa scolded her guy as they sat, looking like she expected Ryan to have a problem with her sitting next to her boyfriend. He may not be friends with the bigger boy, but they wouldn't be enemies if she wasn't fucking (in his case** trying** to fuck) with both their heads. He swallowed his food, thinking of a perfect way to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off her face.

''He didn't.'' He made show of checking his fingers, rubbing them together. ''Just caught me on a scratch.'' She gasped, looking towards Summer, who nodded uncomfortably in confirmation. He gave a smug grin at the look on her face, sharing a congratulatory slap with Seth, to the disgust of both girls, for different reasons.

''What's the wild woman's name?'' Luke asked in false disinterest. He knew the guy just wanted to be sure he wasn't coming after Marissa, but ……. He frowned, returning to his food. Even if he hadn't witnessed some very suspicious incidents with Luke's definition of loyalty; the guy still wasn't on his list of confidants. Hell, fistfights and fires aside, they didn't even **know** each other. But everyone was looking at him expectantly, and Seth's face wasn't the only one to fall when he shook his head, refusing to answer. ''C'mon, Chino, what can it hurt to tell us her name?'' Ask your girlfriend, Ryan thought to himself, seeing the calculating expression in her narrowed eyes.

''Nunya.'' He muttered, swallowing. He hated to do this, given how his brother would take it; but he didn't have any other options at the moment. He could always explain things, later. Ryan reluctantly set the rendezvous with Taylor closer to noon than he'd originally planned, knowing he needed at** least** half an hour to talk to Seth about the situation before returning to_** her**_.

''Nadia?'' Why did his **brother** have to be the one to ask? Not wanting to hurt the taller boy's feelings, he shook his head, praying Marissa or Luke would take time from ordering their food to continue the questioning.

''She's a nun?'' Marissa's tone was mocking and condescending, but he was still grateful. Being rude to **her**, he could stomach.

''Nunya.'' He glared at her and her boyfriend, trying to make it clear whom he considered to be prying. ''As in: none of your business.''

There was a tense silence, Summer was glaring at him in disbelief and Seth looked so damn hurt. He kept his gaze on his plate, listening with half an ear as the others eventually started re-hashing the party from last night, laying out their plans for the day. Apparently, the girls were going shopping while Luke went on some team-bonding thing with his water polo friends. And he could feel Seth's eyes on his face, expectant and hopeful. Oh shit, oh **God**,_** oh**_ _**no**_. There was a crushing disappointment coming over him as he realized what choice he would have to make. He could abandon his friend to the 'mercy' of Marissa, Holly, and that crowd (probably killing any chance the guy had with Summer), or he could miss the reunion with the most amazing girl he'd ever met. Briefly, he was angry with the guy: why did Ryan have to hold his damn hand for this? Why couldn't he handle it himself? He knew it was unfair, that it was only recently that the girl had even acknowledged his brother's existence, but…….. And now he was mad at Summer, which wasn't fair, either. It was the other girls' fault, really. What business was it of their's who the brunette dated? They were sure to make a fuss, though, unless he was there to stop them, to distract them with a better target. He swallowed the last of his food, feeling it settle like lead into his stomach.

''Ryan? You're coming, right?'' Seth asked, looking much like he had when pitching the idea of TJ to him, day before yesterday. God, if anyone** else** had asked…….

''Yeah.'' He choked the words out, trying not to sound like he was being ripped apart. He stood, fishing his wallet out, suddenly eager to be alone, eager to be away from his best friend, whose needs were killing Ryan's chances with his own girl. ''Let me get changed.'' He tossed some money on the table, turned away from the curious faces, and walked out.

He was in the shower before he managed to think past the pain, letting the consequences wash over him with the water. If he didn't show up, he **knew** Taylor would take it as a rejection. She'd close down on him, push him away so he couldn't hurt her anymore. The thought of never again seeing her naked and panting with desire, flushed and wickedly wanton as she tormented him, kissing him **there;** was depressing The thought that someone else would (eventually) touch her, taste her; nearly brought his breakfast up. Ryan dried off, pulling on his boxers and a clean pair of jeans. He'd call, he decided, she'd understand, she **had** to. He stood, towel around his shoulders, staring at his cell phone; unable to make himself dial the number past his fears and doubts, because she **didn't** have to understand, she didn't have to even let him explain, really. He sank down onto the bed, trying to make himself open the damn phone.

''She really did a number on your back.'' He looked up to see Seth standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his chinos. An air of quiet understanding hung about him, making his resemblance to Sandy even more uncanny. ''You don't want to come with us, do you?''

''It's okay, Seth.'' He couldn't help the dead tone of his voice, anymore than he could met the other's eyes. His thumb rubbed idly over the cell's casing. He tried to make himself flip the thing open, but couldn't do it. Come on, Ry, he coached himself; quit being a little bitch. He flipped the phone open …..and Seth reached over and closed it. ''What the fuck?'' Okay, he was mad, now. Couldn't the guy see how **hard** this was? Did he really have to make it harder, damn it?

''She's really got you hooked, whoever she is.'' His brother observed, smiling a little sadly. ''I can't let you bail on that, dude, you'd never forgive me. It's bad enough you don't trust me, I don't need you to hate me on top of it.'' He flinched away from the wounded look in the other's eyes, ashamed that he'd given the impression that he didn't trust the only completely trustworthy guy (aside from the older Cohen) he knew.

''That's not it.'' Ryan sighed. There was a glimmer of hope, deep down. Maybe if he explained, he could have Taylor? Hell, if that was the case, he'd give the guy all the explanations he wanted. Talking was, suddenly, his favorite pastime. ''She doesn't want her family to send her to boarding school, that's all, especially one out of the country. Anyone finds out about us ….''he shrugged ''…you know what the gossip's like, our only chance to keep it quiet is not to tell **anyone**.''

''I can keep a secret…..'' Seth started enthusiastically, just as eager as he'd thought he'd be to 'dish dirt', as Theresa had once described it. Listening to her and her friends talk about some other girls, he thought a more appropriate label would be 'tossing mud'.

''From Summer?'' That shut the other boy up, so he went on, trying to keep his hopes from climbing as he spoke. ''Not a good way to start your relationship, keeping things from her.'' The two boys were quiet, considering the situation and the girls in their lives. Seeing the still slightly hurt look, Ryan fluffed the towel at him, turning to find a shirt so his brother couldn't see the pain in his face. Looked like he was going shopping, damn it. He told himself not to be a baby and to finish getting dressed. ''It's only until we figure a way around her family. I'll try and make sure you're the first to know, when we do.'' He continued the story, even though there was no longer any point to it. No way he was **ever **telling Seth that being there for the guy killed Ryan's chances with _**her**_. He pulled a tee shirt over his head, not caring what he wore if he wasn't going back to Taylor.

''You have to promise to give me **some** details, dude. Nothing I can use to find out who she is….'' Seth held up his hands protestingly at his startled glance''….but **something** for leaving me to the mercies of Summer's friends.''

''I said that I'll…….'' He protested, shaking his head, knowing that he couldn't do that to his friend. He could stand leaving Luke to the claws of the girls, but not Seth, not his brother.

''I'd rather suffer in the knowledge that **one** of us was having a good time than have **both** of us be miserable.'' Ryan continued to stare at him, more amazed at his changing luck than reluctant to take the deal. His brain was screaming at him to grab his bag and run, before the other changed his mind. ''Go on, I'll cover for you.'' The guy smiled, more sincerely than before, and spread his hands at his waist, shrugging. ''I'll probably be getting a lot of practice, right?'' At his dazed nodding, Seth smiled and left, promising to buy him something really 'minty' in retaliation.

He stood there, barefoot and pondering the sudden switches of luck this morning had brought. He'd thought Taylor was rejecting him, then they agreed to keep going, even after their return from Mexico. He'd thought he had to give her up, only to be shoved in her direction by the very friend whom he'd been surrendering the girl **for**. No more, he decided. From now on, he wouldn't just give up on_** her**_, he'd fight first. So long as there was even the smallest **chance**, he'd fight. He scrambled into his socks and shoes, swinging his tote bag over one shoulder as he stood, and heading down the stairs with far more enthusiasm then he'd climbed them. He told a grinning Summer that he'd met them tomorrow, at noon, to head back to Newport; and, given her knowing expression, to shut up, earning him a mock glare from Seth.

He was halfway to the hotel when he felt someone following him. Ryan checked his tail, peering under one arm as he pretended to re-tie his sneakers. A surge of raw anger flooded through him when he spotted her. For the first time in his life, he completely understood the urge to slap a woman around. What the fucking hell did she think she was doing, anyway? He picked up his pace, changing direction and going into a club that had just started opening, taking advantage of the 'hair of the dog' crowd. He found a spot just inside the door, off to the side, and waited. Sure enough, she charged in heedlessly, scanning the growing crowd for him. He was tempted to just leave, she hadn't seen him yet, after all; but he didn't want her picking up his trail. He needed to keep her occupied until the streets started filling up; half an hour, at least, if the customers straggling in here were any indication.

''What do you want, Marissa?'' He had intended to sound as angry as he felt, but the minute he spoke, all the rage flooded out of him and all he could feel was tired. He didn't want to deal with this shit, anymore; all he wanted was to be back with Taylor. Even **without** the sex, she was better company than this melodramatic mother-fucking** bitch**.

''Ryan!'' She acted surprised to see him, looking around as if she could find an excuse for being there in the dimly lit dance club. He felt an impatient irritation with her, this spoiled brat delaying him from reuniting with his lady lo…his girl. ''I was just…..''

''Oh, shove it.'' He snapped at her, scowling, beyond fed up with her stunts. His desire to be somewhere else, with a specific some**one** else: lead him to be rudely blunt. Any other tactic would take too long, shortening his time with _**her.**_ ''Why are you following me?''

''I want to see this girl of yours, **if** she exists.'' She tossed her hair in a practiced move, crossing her arms confidently. ''I think you made her up.'' The ego, the sheer arrogance of her, was astounding. He was starting to wonder what he had been thinking, chasing after her. Or what he'd been thinking **with**, he admitted to himself. At least, with Taylor, he could point to a handful of reasons without half trying. Intelligent, funny, cultured, sexy, mischievous, classy, confident, sensible, elegant, daring, shy, hot, trusting, hypnotic, easy-going, ……Hell, he could go on all day about the girl. With this one, all he could come up with was that she was pretty, and the auburn haired, hazel eyed siren awaiting him was looking better and better every second.

''I can't even **begin** to express how little I care what _**you**_** think**.'' Ryan informed her coldly, eyes hard with disdain, letting scorn drip from his voice heavily. She flinched away from his expression, eyes wide. Just his luck, her step back attracted attention.

''((Everything all right?))'' One of the girls working the club stepped up, concern on her face. Of course she didn't want there to be a fight; fights meant lost money, and the weekend, especially this one, was all **about** making money for this town. Inspiration struck, and he pulled out his wallet.

''((It's my cousin's birthday.))" He lied, handing the girl a twenty, tilting his head to indicate Marissa. ''((She thinks we forgot, but it's a surprise. I have to go finish setting up, could you keep her here for thirty minutes?))" He gave her the 'cookie' smile, the one he'd used to cadge extra from Theresa's mother, when she was in a baking mood. Whether it was that or the cash, she eagerly nodded, taking Marissa's arm. Ignoring the blonde's sudden protests, he gave her a little salute, smiling at the enraged look on her face as she was surrounded by clapping members of the club staff. ''See ya, Cooper.''

Finally, **finally**, he was where he wanted to be. Well, not quite. He made his way up the stairs, ignoring the knowing glances sent his way, telling himself it would be pathetic to run. Ryan left the stairwell, making the last turn into the hallway, feeling his twitching nerves settle into a calm focus when he saw _**her**_ standing at the door. His senses, as always, catalogued every detail of her, filing his mind with her presence.

Taylor was wearing sandals and a white, flowered dress with a full, knee-length skirt and wide shoulder straps. She'd tied her hair in a pony tail, off to one side, hiding the hickey he'd marked her with. He was going to have to watch that; love bites were **not** the way to keep their affair a secret. He came up behind her, inhaling her soft scent, hearing her breath catch as she sensed his presence. Her lack of fear, knowing it was him, **wasn't** what made her hand shake as she tried to unlock the door. He stepped into her space, cupping her elbow and sliding his hand down to cover her fingers with his own.

They unlocked the door together and he took his hand reluctantly away from her skin to push, flat-palmed, on the wood; opening it for her as she turned the handle. She stepped past him, heading for the dresser against the far wall, putting her key in her purse as she went. He entered their room, kicking the door shut behind them and dropping his bag heedlessly to the floor. Sit on the bed, his pride urged him; it's not needy if **she** comes to **you**. His body completely ignored the instructions, his hand palming the condoms off the nightstand (she must've picked them up off the floor after he left) and stuffing them into the front pocket of his jeans. He crossed to where she was turning around, having just set the purse into her open suitcase.

Ryan put his hands on her waist, pulling her against him as she tangled her hands in his hair, bringing his face to hers for a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. He pinned her against the dresser with his body, tasting _**her**_ under the eggs and spices, the flavor sending his heart beat thundering through his veins. He caressed her back with his palms, searching for the clasp of her dress with eager fingers. She was tugging his shirt out of his jeans, tangling his arms until he broke their kiss, pulling the tee off and tossing it aside.

Her fingers electrified the skin of his chest and shoulders, their breath sounding loud and heavy in the still room as they returned again and again to the kiss, only able to stop, briefly, to gasp in much-needed air against each other's skin before resuming the lip-lock. His head was spinning with need as he picked her up by the hips, setting her on the dresser next to the suitcase. He maintained the contact of her body against his, feeling her smooth-as-glass legs trying to wrap around his hips. She kicked her sandals off, running her feet along the back of his legs as he pushed the skirt of her dress up, slipping the condoms out of his pocket and dropping them onto the dresser next to her ass.

They pressed against each other, Taylor sliding her hands underneath his boxers with lustful impatience. He unbuttoned his jeans, letting her push the fabric away from his waist as he caressed her thighs, moving her skirt even further up her legs, moaning into her mouth as he fingered her panties aside. She crossed her legs behind his waist, shoving his clothes below his ass with her feet as she fumbled for the condoms. He tore one off the strip, opening it and rolling it on with the ease of long practice.

She threw back her head and moaned gutturally, arching herself against him as he entered her, cupping her ass to pull her more firmly against him, to ensure the depth of his thrust. Ryan felt his senses overloading, pleasure building as he pumped his hips, growling against her cheek, sealing his lips to hers again. She sucked his tongue into her mouth, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, cupping the back of his head with one hand, pulling at his hair as she started to come. Feeling her clenching and shuddering around him, he pulled back, raising one hand shakily to caress her check, locking eyes with her as he began moving slower, deeper; moaning her name as his climax synched with hers in a trembling white-out of bliss.

He braced his hands palms down on the dresser, resting his forehead on her shoulder, mind reeling. What the **fuck** was that? He'd had quick screws before, fast-paced groping in the back room during some party, hurried thrusting to be done before getting caught. This was different, wilder, more intense, and (somehow) far, far more satisfying than most of the sex he'd had lying **down**. It would be frightening if it wasn't so comfortable. Through the haze of his confused afterglow, he felt her rubbing his back soothingly, moving her lips against his shoulder. The kisses she was planting were gentle, easing the fire instead of building it. Taylor moved her mouth along his collarbone, his neck, muttering against his skin.

'' ...i'm such a slut…..'' she was murmuring. He snorted, lifting his head from her shoulder to gaze into her eyes, a little embarrassed by his own actions. This one had just ……happened. But it had felt so natural, like they'd been doing this for years, like they'd known each other all their lives. Did he really **care** how crazy it was?

''If you are, then so am I.'' He told her, running his thumb gently (and somewhat guiltily) over her swollen bottom lip. She had no cause to feel badly. He was the one with experience, if anyone was at fault, it was him, not her. Not that he thought this was something to lay blame for, what they were doing to each other, with each other. Of course, nothing he'd experienced had even **begun** to prepare him for what she could do to him, what she could make him feel; how she could shatter his self-control with just a look.

''You're a boy, Ryan.'' He snorted (no, really?) and she shook her head at him, quirking her lips in guilty amusement. ''You're **supposed** to be a slave to your hormones.'' She looked away, blushing, although she didn't move to disconnect from him, to leave his embrace; for which he was thankful. Not that he wanted to **cuddle**, or anything; he just liked being in her arms, that's all. Pussy, his mind whispered mockingly. Shut up, he returned. Fuck, now he was arguing with voices in his head. When did he become Seth? Taylor bit her lip, playing with the hair on the back of his neck, but still not looking at him. ''**One** of us is supposed to have a little control.'' She mumbled, half to herself.

''Says who?'' Ryan brushed hair away from her hazel eyes, smiling tenderly at her. He wanted to take her over to the bed and convince her they were doing the right thing with his body, with the pleasure he knew he could bring her. The unspoken connection that flared between them at such times burned away any doubts or fears before either could voice them. Somehow, though, he got the feeling it would be a mistake, and he didn't want any mistakes with _**her**_. Miraculously, he seemed to have said the right thing, for once.

''I guess we **are** making up our own rules, aren't we?'' She smiled brightly at him, eyes sparkling again. He nodded; glad she was so sensible. She uncrossed her legs and he stepped back, releasing the two of them from their entanglement. He discarded the condom, pulling his pants back up and grinning at her innocent expression as she just hopped off the dresser, smoothing the skirt of her dress down. Somehow, he'd never gotten around to baring her breasts like he'd wanted too. She looked unruffled except for the fading flush to her skin, a light dancing in her hazel gaze. ''I suppose, if we're playing by the rules, that makes it my turn to be half-dressed, next time.'' She teased, eyeing his bare chest lustfully.

He crossed his arms at her, smirking at her obvious appreciation of his body. Of course, he thought, running his eyes over her form as she picked his bag up off the floor; she's not bad herself. Ryan felt himself stirring again, the unassuming temptress in front of him ramping him into overdrive with no effort at all. He moved behind her as she sat his bag on the dresser, wrapping his arms around her waist. Taylor put her hands over his, leaning back against his chest. He could see her smiling, eyes closed, as they reveled in their embrace. He indulged himself in the simple pleasure of _**her**_ in his arms, laying his cheek against hers and closing his own eyes in contentment. Eventually, feeling the fire overtaking him again, he kissed her cheek, husking an invitation into her ear.

''Or we could just both be naked.''


	6. Hanging Out

**A/N: **This one, again, is for Waltzy. I owe her for the sequel to Veronica. And for all the little touches I'm stealing from her. Mea culpa.

-- xxx ---

_''Or we could both be naked.''_ Ryan's voice sent delightful shivers across her skin, his breath warm against her ear. She leaned back into his solid presence, tilting her head so he could trail kisses along her neck. He shifted, kicking off his shoes, obviously taking her leaning against him as a green light. Which was entirely accurate: she was discovering that she apparently had a damn healthy sex drive, and his was nearly Olympic.

''I'm impressed.'' Taylor caressed the hands pressed into her stomach, holding her against him. She smiled, eyes closed, as his lips left spots of heat against her shoulder, her jaw. ''From what I've read, I thought boys took more time to recover.'' She raised her arms, threading her fingers into his hair as he mouthed her neck, nibbling gently at her skin. Her insides were quivering, her skin pricked into goose bumps as he softly bit her ear, sucking the lobe briefly (she'd forgotten to put earrings on that morning, which was entirely** his** fault, distracting her as he had) before moving his lips behind it.

''It does take time.'' His tongue pressed to the skin just under her earlobe, making her shiver with anticipation. ''Doesn't mean we can't have some fun while we wait.'' She felt faint at the erotic promise of his voice, the husky depth of his tone. His hands palmed her breasts through her dress and she gasped at the sensation of the fabric rubbing against her skin under the pressure of his fingers. She arched into the contact, playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

He made a frustrated noise, pulling at her shoulder straps. She turned eagerly around, running her hands over his chest, resting her palms on his shoulders as his fingers moved to the clasps of her dress. She kissed his neck, moving her lips across his collarbone as her dress came open at the back. She pulled her head back, raising hazel eyes to lock with blue, sharing a smile with _**him**_, with her **lover**. She lifted her arms, one at a time, freeing them from her dress as he pulled it down, baring her torso. Their gazes dropped, in unison, to her chest.

''Wow.'' She giggled at his appreciative expression, the awe in his voice.

''It's not like you haven't seen them before.'' Taylor raised her eyebrows teasingly at him as she looked back at his face. He was still gazing at her breasts, licking his lips. Memories made her mouth go dry and her nipples tightened harder in expectation.

''Yeah, but **I'm** the only one who's seen them.'' His tone was tender and affectionate and she was glad she had waited for_** him**_. No one else would've appreciated (or noticed) what she had given him, nor could anyone else have given** her** this heady sense of freedom, this ability to just be herself. Ryan touched the tip of one finger gently to a nipple, smiling softly when she sucked in an aroused breath at the contact. And, **God**, the sex was just **amazing**.

''Not counting my doctor.'' Her voice shook a bit as she teased him, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment so that she wouldn't say the word that neither of them were really ready to hear. His blue eyes flicked up to her face, watching her as his fingers feathered their way across her skin to the other breast. She bit her lip, clutching at his upper arms while he continued the delicious torture.

''Maybe.'' A light of mischief entered his face, and he lowered his head towards her chest as he spoke. ''But the doctor doesn't do** this**.'' No, the doctor certainly didn't, she thought in climbing pleasure. She moaned, running her hands over his shoulders as he sucked and licked at her skin, sending jolts of fiery energy crackling over her body.

He was pushing the rest of her dress down, catching her panties to bare the rest of her; kissing his way, open-mouthed, down her stomach, which clenched in anticipation. Oh, God. She leaned back, bracing herself against the dresser, locking her elbows to keep herself upright, curling her fingers over the edge. (Her toes had curled long since.) He sat back on his heels before her, looking up her body with a lascivious expression as he let the fabric fall to pool around her feet. She stepped free of the cotton, letting him slide it away with one hand, stroking her stomach with the other, not once breaking the smoldering eye contact. She was getting off on the look in his eyes as much as what he was doing with his hands, sliding them over her to caress the backs of her thighs. Ryan pressed his fingertips into the spots just under the curve of her butt, making her moan again, griping the dresser tighter with trembling hands.

Taylor whimpered as his lips pressed a kiss onto her clit, his eyes sparkling with lustful humor. She gasped, unable to keep her hips from twitching as his tongue slid along her opening, easing inside her, setting her skin on fire. He wasn't unaffected, closing his eyes, fingers clenching, moaning as he worked his lips against her, moving his tongue deeper within her. The vibrations of the sound tore through her, sending her climbing towards orgasm, throwing her head back as Ryan continued to make love to her with his mouth. He kept his hands roaming, smoothing over her skin, gliding up to play with her breasts, ghosting down to briefly grip her hips (but never touching anywhere **near** where she really, really wanted him too, damn it). It was maddening, this slow build of fire in her veins, this exquisite torture. It was frustrating, erotic, mind-blowing….. It was **wonderful**.

''Ryan.'' She groaned in guttural appreciation of his efforts, feeling her climax overtaking her. She shouted (something), muscles clenching and trembling as she came, feeling his lips vibrate against her with his own moans of desire.

Panting, he pulled his face from between her legs, looking up at her with a somewhat smug (and mildly concerned) expression. She reached down, shakily wiping the moisture from his chin with her thumb. He trapped her hand against his cheek with his palm, sucking her juices off the digit with a burning look in his eyes. A look she recognized from their earlier endeavors. Looks like he's recovered, she thought with satisfied pride. My turn. Groping along the top of the dresser, she finally located the strip of condoms.

Ryan reached, and she pulled them teasingly away from his grip, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting to his feet. She shook her head, smiling, and watched his face brighten as she pushed him backwards to the floor, his eyes going dark as he shifted, allowing her to lay him prone against the rug. She laid the condoms in a line down his chest, kneeling on her hands and knees over him. He licked his lips, gaze flicking down his body, before returning to her hazel eyes with eager desperation. She ran her gaze over him enthusiastically, noting the ridge in his pants with a swirling of heat in her belly, a resumption of the aching pulse that was becoming enjoyably familiar.

She braced her hands on his chest, dropping a kiss above the line of protection, one to either side, and one below, as she moved further down his body. Taylor looked up into pools of **very** intense blue, continuing to smile seductively as she shifted lower, moving her hands to flatten her palms on either side of his hips. She met his look with a burning one of her own, shifting her weight back onto her heels as she teasingly slid one fingertip under the edge of his briefs, tracing a circle around the button of his jeans.

Their gazes remained locked: she felt that connection flaring to life again, gaining strength with every move, every touch. Tenderly, she opened his pants, palming him as she unzipped, feeling a surge of confidence in her desirability as his breath caught and his hips twitched. **She** was doing this to him, **she** was making him tremble with need, making him swallow thickly as she eased her hands into his briefs under his butt. The evidence of the effect she was having on him was revealed as she pushed the fabric down (he lifted his hips slightly to help her); the shaft firmed by his desire, his desire for _**her**_.

She scooted downwards, pulling a little rougher in her impatience. Ryan helped her free his legs from his clothes, keeping his movements limited so that the line of vacuum sealed latex stayed in place. They definitely didn't want to lose track of those, she mused, tossing his clothes aside. He reached his hands out to her, expression oddly calm: trusting. She twined her fingers with his, cooperating in the move back up his body; they clenched white as her clit made contact with the burning brand between his legs. He moaned her name, thrusting a bit. She gasped at the pleasure of the friction, continuing to rub herself against him, drawing passionate groans from them both. His hands suddenly grabbed her hips with desperate strength, freezing her motions.

Why had he stopped her, didn't he like…….oh. She felt her skin momentarily heat with embarrassment as well as desire. Right, the condoms. Getting carried away could have really **permanent** consequences. Consequences like diapers and bottles and daycare. Shoving the thought away before it broke the mood entirely, Taylor shifted her hips backwards, breaking the contact. He went limp (well, mostly limp) with relief, muscles tensing back up as she raked the back of her nails across his stomach and up towards the condoms. She tore one off, throwing the rest carelessly in the direction of the bed. They could find them later, she thought. If not, she had four new boxes in her purse.

She rolled the protection over him, moving into position, aided by his hands once more on her hips. She sheathed him inside her, arching her back and giving a low, animal moan of satisfaction. God, this was so fan**tas**tic! Ryan arched as well, shoving himself deeper, fingers curling against her waist as he bit his lip, groaning. He looked so **hot**, felt so **good**; pleasure surged through her as she thought that, as irresistible as she found **him**, he was just as helpless before _**her**_.

Suddenly, she was moving, thrusting herself onto him, gasping as the fire flowed through her, pulling at his wrists until he cupped her breasts. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over the nipples, holding her upright by the pressure of his hands against her chest. Taylor rubbed her palms up and down his arms, clutching at the flesh as her climax began to burst over her. She shook her head, throwing it backwards in the storm of overwhelming sensations overtaking her. Tears pricked her eyes at the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of making love to _**him**_, **with** him.

''Oh, God, Taylor!''

Ryan's voice was desperately warning, she felt his hips stop moving, stiffening. Her orgasm surged higher, lifted further by the knowledge she could make him lose control, make him come before he was ready. She screamed in delight, clenching around him, grasping at him as she rode out his finishing thrusts, shuddering her way through the final stages. Taylor collapsed forward against his chest, barely feeling his arms wrap around her shoulders in the aftermath of their passion. There should be steam, she thought blearily, some sort of sizzling noise from the neurons I just fried. Something.

He closed his eyes, wondering when the room would stop spinning, when he'd be able to focus on anything but _**her**_. There wasn't a lot of strength behind the question, he didn't have much energy for anything besides laying here and breathing, really. Maybe they should take a nap? There was a problem with that idea, but his brain was still in the drunk tank, calming down off the **ultimate** high of having sex with Taylor. She settled against him, nuzzling into his chest with a contented sigh. Ryan was cradling her against him, blessing whomever had made this rug so fucking comfortable, when he remembered what the problem was.

''Taylor.'' She murmured something against his chest, and he realized by that (and the mild chill to his skin) that he'd lost a few minutes. Shit, they must have drifted off. He shifted under her, trying to dislodge her gently. He pushed at her, relieved to see he was still a little weak. They hadn't been out long, then. There was still time. ''Taylor, get up, okay?'' He raised his voice a bit, careful to keep his tone gentle. She shook her head, sliding her arms up to twine around his neck. Fuck. He tried to get his brain to work. He couldn't shove her off, not without hurting one or the other of them and, with her martial arts skills, it wouldn't necessarily be **her** that got hurt. He couldn't roll to the sides because she had him pretty effectively pinned by the hips and his attempts to tickle her just made her sigh and snuggle in tighter. He had an idea, he just hoped he'd be able to survive the aftermath. ''Hey, Darla.''

''What?!'' That did it. The husky whisper of another girl's name shot her instantly aware, and she sat up quickly, hand going to her head as she became upright. She looked dizzy and a little hung over. He felt the same, blinking a bit to bring her expression into sharper focus. Maybe they should slow it down a little, now that they were going to have more than this weekend. ''What did you just say?'' Instead of angry, Taylor looked hurt, like she might cry. Oh shit. Explain, dumbass, **fast**.

''Whatever I had to.'' He pushed at her hips, sighing when she didn't move off him, just gazed at him with rising doubt and panic in her eyes. ''Taylor, last time I fell asleep with ….'' He flushed, motioning below his waist. ''It wasn't a good thing, trying to get it off in the morning.''** That** was an understatement, it had been one of the more painful experiences of his life. Trey's snickering through the bathroom door (and the subsequent rumors the next day) had made it even worse. Not to mention the trouble he'd had getting laid for the following month, trying to explain himself and the rash he'd gotten as a result of sleeping with a used condom on.

''Oh! Yeah, that's ……that's kind of gross, actually.'' She lifted herself off him, moving groggily, slumping down against the side of the bed. He rolled up to his knees, yet again appreciative of her sensibility. Slowly, he divested himself of the condom, thankful it hadn't had time to dry. This was the disgusting part of having sex, and he tried not to look (or think) as he gingerly got to his feet, feeling his head spin slightly, dropping the thing in the trash with a sense of relief. Taylor's voice was shaky, he could feel her watching him. ''Why am I all …..worn out and dizzy?''

''Afterdim.'' He braced himself against the nightstand, looking over to where his boxers and jean lay in a heap. It seemed like miles, and the bed was **so **much closer. Ryan looked down at her, sitting against the side of the bed, eyes owlishly blinking up at him in confusion. He played what he'd just said back in his head and sighed. Right, she had no idea what he meant. ''Come on.'' He leaned over, letting Taylor use his extended arm as a lever to lift herself off the floor and onto the bed. He pulled the covers down, watching her crawl and maneuver under them with affection, lust finally still within him. He crawled in after her, settling in.

''Afterdim.'' She made it a question by tone, curling her right arm under her pillow as she lay on her side, facing him. He mirrored her pose, left arm under his pillow as he pulled the covers up over them both.

''Well, there's afterglow.'' He twisted his forearm so that his right hand lay, palm up, on the mattress between them. She put her left hand in it, returning his tender smile with a blinding one of her own. ''Then there's afterdim.'' He felt lethargy creeping over him, comfort and satisfaction pulling him towards slumber.

''Yes, that makes everything crystal clear.'' The sarcastic expression faded into shocked embarrassment when she yawned, turning her face into her pillow to muffle it. He closed his eyes, letting her voice wash over him, relaxing him. ''Okay, wait, I think I get it now. Because sex takes so much effort, especially the phenomenal sex we've been having, and we've been having a **lot** of it, so we finally wore ourselves out? Afterdim. That's cute.'' She gripped his hand briefly tighter, sounding like she was smiling. ''Darla come up with that?'' She teased, yawning again.

''As a matter of fact, yeah.'' He felt her eyes on him as he spoke, mind disengaged and floating, free from control of what he was saying. ''She was my first. Catholic school girl on vacation, doing a little slumming.'' Ryan spilled the whole story: the way she'd used him (all they did was fuck), disappearing when school started; calling him Brian' when he'd finally tracked her down. The memory of her and her friends' laughter still hurt, was one of the reasons he had such a hard time trusting people.

''That's perfectly understandable.'' His eyes shot open, realizing by her words what he'd done, what he'd revealed. Taylor was gazing right at him, hazel eyes glittering with affection and trust; empty of pity or disgust. She leaned in, planting a kiss on his amazed lips. It was gentle, chaste, and shook him to the core with it's tender affection. She kept her eyes closed as she pulled back, dropping her head again to the pillow. ''((Time for a siesta.))'' she murmured sleepily, breath quickly evening out. He sighed, closing his eyes for just for a minute, thinking that this girl, who could open him up completely, was definitely never going to be** boring**.

Next thing he knew, the light had shifted across the room; it was late afternoon by the look of it. Her legs had tangled with his, her left arm was now draped over his waist and his right hand rested gently on her hip. They weren't pressed against each other (or he probably would've woken a **lot** sooner), but they **were** several inches closer than before. Ryan rubbed his thumb idly back and forth over her skin, watching her sleep, questions furrowing his brow. He didn't have any doubts about this thing between them (anymore) but, now that the fires had faded a bit, there were some things he wanted to know.

Taylor smiled in her sleep and he felt that surge of gentle wildness filling him. He leaned in, returning her tender kiss from before their nap. It was just as amazing to give as it had been to receive; this soft kiss of quiet affection. He broke it reluctantly, before anything could ignite between them. She blinked, eyes bleary until she saw him watching her; when she blinded him with the dazzling intensity of her expression. Ryan fought against the sudden, bitter disappointment, knowing he wouldn't be able to wake to **that** face every morning, like he desperately wanted to. Pushing it back, he smiled at her in quiet rapture, living in the moment.

''Hey, beautiful.'' The smile dropped instantly from her face and she looked down, pulling her arm away from him to pick at the covers between them. Shit, what had he said? Maybe he'd said something in his sleep? Although that was hard to believe, he barely talked when he was **awake**, after all. It was usually safer, that way. Look how she was reacting to his compliment, though; he must've said **something** wrong.

''You don't have to say that.'' She sounded like someone had kicked her puppy, like **she** was the kicked puppy. He was confused. What girl didn't like to be told she was beautiful? Apparently supercharged by his concern over her reaction to his attempt at pillow talk, his brain raced through the possible reasoning behind her reaction.

''I think, as a straight male, I have a better idea of who's beautiful than your mother.'' He couldn't keep the snarl out of his voice, mentioning her mother. He'd take Dawn over what Taylor had told him about that bitch, any day. Her hazel eyes snapped to his face, searching his expression. He moved his hand up her body from her hip, cupping her face gently. He locked gazes with her, voice firm with the strength of his belief in the truth of his words. ''You're beautiful, Taylor.'' She sucked in a breath, biting her lip.

''I'm no Marissa.'' Thank **God**, he thought to himself, as she continued to whisper. ''She's gorgeous.''

''Yeah, she is.'' Her eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. ''But she's not **you**.'' Her brow furrowed at his comment, Ryan brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, memorizing her face. ''You know, there where still guys trying to psych themselves into talking to you, even after you broke that guy's wrist. Bartender said it was good for business.'' He smirked, tapping her nose with a fingertip. ''Face it, Townsend, you're** hot**.''

He rolled away from her contemplation, climbing out of bed for some urgent business in the bathroom. He took a quick shower afterward, wrapping a towel around his waist as he came out. Taylor went in as he was exiting, kissing his cheek as she passed. He picked their clothes up, laying her dress flat on the suitcase (having no idea how to hang it properly) and dug his cell phone out of his jeans, seeing the little 0' with a sigh of relief. Hopefully, this meant his brother would be dating Summer by the end of next week.

He snorted at the thought. He knew girls like that, they were queens of the hot and cold. Since she was actually **interested** in his friend, though, he knew she wouldn't drag it out too much longer. Thinking of that brought him back to his earlier question, brushed away by his fascination with watching her wake up. Ryan abruptly froze in place, looking at the table where he'd been mechanically setting out the food from the mini-fridge. Her favorites sat on the far side, the spicier selections on his. This is** strange**, he mused. Not the actions themselves, he was hungry and was sure she was too (and she didn't like Mexican food all that much). No, what was tweaking him was how it **felt**. It was comfortable, easy, familiar; like sitting down to dinner with the Cohen's. It felt like belonging.

It felt like **home**.

''Everything okay?'' Taylor's voice snapped him back to Earth.

''Sure.'' He turned to smile at her, lips tugging wider when he saw she was wearing the wife-beater from yesterday with her clean panties. She came over and sat down, kissing his cheek (opposite from the one she'd kissed before) as she went past him. His heart clenched and he distracted himself with sitting down, opening a bottle of water. He had to get a handle on this or he'd never be able to leave: not now, not the next time they got together, not **ever**. They applied themselves to the food for a while, trading smiles and brief touches; talking about what was likely happening with Seth and Summer, keeping it light. Every time that feeling of belonging welled up in him, he thought resolutely of the consequences, if they were discovered. Weighing** never** seeing her again versus the wrench it would be to leave her **every** night; yeah, he was getting a handle on it.

''So, I was thinking.'' Taylor said, fiddling with the cap to her water. ''Pre-paid cell phones.'' At his raised eyebrows, she shrugged, looking adorably competent. ''They work for criminals, right? No reason they can't work for us. We'll only give the numbers to each other, switching to a new set of phones when someone gets close. We'll need to be careful, not use names or anything; it wouldn't do for anyone to overhear. Maybe we could use code….''

''Why me?'' The question that had been bubbling in him since this started finally burst free, and he watched her eyes flick away from his face as she changed mental gears. Ryan hoped he'd be able to stand her answer, wanting the truth; knowing he wouldn't be able to bear a lie. ''Why'd you pick me?'' Ryan knew why they were going to continue: they'd connected so well it would be a felony **not **to; but he wanted to know how it **started**. Why she'd pushed the snowball down the hill in the first place. This was too important for **any** questions to lie unanswered.

''I saw you at Cotillion.'' Her eyes locked on his face, piercing him with her hazel understanding. ''I would've come over to talk to you, after; but Mr. Fisher …….and then, later, Marissa needed you.'' There was no hostility in her voice, no condemnation as she continued. ''Later, after I tracked you down and started coming to the Crab Shack; it just seemed like she was always there. Or someone else was.'' She lifted a teasing brow at him and he blushed, remembering Gabrielle. Not one of his better moments, that one. Next time, though, he was going to lock the stupid door. The thought of having** Taylor** in the pool house lit a fire in him and he nearly blanked on what she was saying, staring lustfully at her body, her face, her **lips**. ''It just seemed like I couldn't arrange to run into you alone, and I didn't dare ask you out publicly. When I found out Marissa wasn't coming to TJ, I chartered a helicopter down …'' He blinked. She'd done what? Just to try and **date** him? He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or nervous. Right now, all he was; was horny. ''…..then I saw her, and the plan fell apart, so I went dancing.'' Taylor stood up, smiling sultrily, coming around the table towards him, trailing her fingers along the top. Oh good, she was feeling it too. He felt a thrill run through him, wondering how** this** one would go down. No, definitely **not **boring, he thought, as she came to a stop in front of him. ''I certainly didn't expect anything but a **dance**, Ryan. You really know how to surprise a girl.'' She leaned forward, hands on the back of his chair as she breathed against his lips. ''How do you want to do this?''

''Surprise me.'' He invited, skin tingling at the thought of letting her have her way with him. It was exciting her too, from the way her eyes lit up, the way she crushed her lips against his. Taylor still stood, cradling his head in her hands as she devoured his mouth. He had it under control, though; pushing the wife-beater up to stroke the skin of her back, nibbling at her bottom lip. Every nerve ending he had was burning (five alarm, at least), but it was under control.

Until she broke the kiss to drop to her knees in front of him.

''Oh my God.'' Ryan whispered, unable to move from his seat as she unknotted the towel, baring him. A tiny fragment of disbelief sounded, wondering if this was really happening; silenced forever by the moist heat of her lips on the inside of one knee.

She settled onto her heels, caressing his knees, encouraging him (needlessly) to spread his legs a little. He moaned, trembling, watching her trail kisses up the inside of his thigh. Already, he was rock-hard with anticipation. There was a small part of him that wanted to warn her about gag reflex (and everything **else** that usually kept girls from trying this); but that part was being strangled by the larger part (the **smarter** part) that didn't want her to change her fucking mind. As it was, she kept pausing, shooting these hot looks up his body; getting off on torturing him, apparently. Her breath stroked over him, making him twitch his hips, gasping; unable to breathe, watching her mouth move closer to him. Closer, closer……

_Deet-deet. Deet-deet. _

His cell phone chirped insistently from the dresser and he threw his head back, biting his lip to keep from whimpering. Taylor stood, smile fading as she turned around. Briefly, he considered jumping off the roof, watching that ass cross the room; her nipples little tents in the shirt that drew his gaze for the return trip. The number on the little screen when she held out the cell to him changed his mind, sending a jolt of raw fear chasing the lust from his body. **Seth. **He flipped the thing open.

''Hey.'' If his voice was a little shaky, he felt the teasing would be worth it, so long as it was his brother's voice on the other end.

_''Hey, man.''_ He nearly fainted from relief, mouthing Seth' to chase the worry from _**her**_ face. She nodded, straightening up their lunch mess as he talked. _''Look, sorry to salt your game, but it's Marissa.'' _Of course it is, he thought sarcastically. When isn't it?

''What **about** her?'' He snapped, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

_''Okay, well, she just found out her parents are getting a divorce.''_

''So? Let her cry on Luke's shoulder.''

_''That would be a problem, since we last saw him with Holly attached to his face by the lips.''_ **Per**fect. The stupid jock had worse judgment than Trey, sometimes. And his timing **really** sucked. There were some muffled sounds at the other end, then Summer's voice came onto the line. He frowned, because she sounded frantic, and that wasn't like the tough little dynamo at all.

_''Hey, Chino. Look, Coop took off with my step-monster's pain killers.'' _Oh **shit**. His opinion of Marissa's intelligence took a sharp dive. Maybe she hadn't been intentionally playing him off against her boyfriend, maybe she was just a moron. And even if she wasn't, she didn't deserve to die.

''I'll be right there. Meet me where we had breakfast.'' Ryan closed the phone, standing and just barely catching the boxers she tossed him. He scrambled into them, dressing lightning quick in the clothes she continued to hand him. ''I have to go.'' His voice sounded whining and pathetic. He paused at the door, looking at her one more time.

''I know.'' The strongest expression on Taylor's face was concern: for him, for his brother, for their friends. ''I saw your face, on the phone.'' She kissed him, opening the door. ''Go.''

''This isn't over.'' He promised, backing away. She nodded her understanding and he turned to run down the hallway towards the stairs.

He cursed Marissa Cooper with every step.


	7. Stay Right Here

**A/N: **My facts are probably way off on the medicine & travel time. This is also the first time I've tried putting a song in. Is it a songfic if it's just part of a chapter & you don't do all the lyrics? Anyway. Any mistakes are mine and just doing this for fun. Enjoy.

-- xxx –

''Ryan!'' Seth was waving to him from the front of the restaurant. He was about to curse, wondering where Summer was, when he saw her arguing with Luke. She looked like she was about to have one of those 'rage blackouts' she'd threatened Seth with. Which was just what they didn't need. Time was running out for their melodramatic friend. Even if she hadn't taken any pills: a girl who looked like Marissa, alone in the darkening streets of TJ……Yeah, they had to find her. **Fast**.

''Then where is she?'' That was Luke, Ryan thought to himself, always coming in late. Where was this concern for his girl when the bastard was cheating on her? With Holly, of all people. He'd met **dogs** that were brighter than that girl.

''Maybe you should go find out.'' Eyes turned to him, and he was a little surprised to see guilt and worry mixed with the hostility in the blue. Both pairs of brown were mostly relieved; although there was some guilt in those gazes, as well. He couldn't believe there was anything his friends had to feel guilty** about**. What the hell had happened here?

''Where have** you** been?'' Like he was gonna answer that, especially from this guy. Fortunately, they had more important things to do, just then, than satisfy the guy's curiosity. And with Taylor back in…..No, don't think of _**her**_, just organize this mess and get it handled. Focus, Ry, he scolded himself. One situation at a time.

''Look, you've got all your water polo buddies with you, right?'' Ryan sighed at the blank, hostile look. These people were so fucking useless. And stupid, let's not forget stupid. Seeing the excited look in the other two faces, he reminded himself of the exceptions. ''You get your pals and search that way.'' He motioned towards the crowds and lights; where he thought it **least** likely Marissa would go. One look at her (probably ex) boyfriend, and they'd be chasing her all night, if they were lucky. Not to mention that that bunch of idiots wouldn't know what to do even if they **did** find her. He remembered how quick the room had cleared when the taller boy had been shot: the only two who'd been any use were the ones he was taking with him. ''We'll go this way. First one to find her calls you or Summer.'' Turning, he started down the street in his chosen direction, feeling more than seeing the two brunettes fall into step with him.

''So, like I said, sorry about…..'' He didn't want to get into this with his brother, not with Summer in earshot. He was trying not to think of Taylor, damn it.

''Leave it.'' He gentled his tone, seeing the concern in those brown eyes. Ryan wasn't used to someone being worried about his happiness, of all things. He could explain, a little, he felt. It wouldn't give anything away, and they hadn't found a trace of Marissa, yet. ''She understands, Seth. It's okay.''

''She must be pretty awesome.'' Summer wasn't being sarcastic, he could tell. She was, however, fishing for information. Shit. It looked like instead of Marissa's situation distracting her from his 'mystery woman' she was using the puzzle to derail her concern about her friend. ''Where did you say you met, again?''

''I didn't.''

He shook his head, approaching some guy selling burritos out of a cart. They'd have more success at finding their friend if they asked around a bit. Thankfully, the girl had a recent photo in her purse: blond, leggy, and hot being, unfortunately, thick on the ground right now. The guy may have had pretty questionable bathing habits, but he gave good directions. Every now and then, he stopped to ask someone who looked like they'd been in the same spot for more than an hour for help. Marissa's lead was narrowing. Either Summer was learning to pick up the word for 'picture' in Spanish; or else she was just really good at reading his signals. Again, he reminded himself that not every girl was as dense as Cooper. He was yanking his mind away from Taylor for what felt like the hundredth time when he glanced down an alley. Four steps later, he was whirling around, memories of the time one of Trey's girls had od'd pushing him into a run towards what looked for all the world like a pile of rags.

''Oh my God.'' Summer gasped behind him, a sharp intake of horrified breath being Seth's only, uncharacteristic response.

They'd found her.

Ryan fell to his knees, feeling with trembling hands for a pulse. The skin was clammy under his fingers, slick with sweat. There was a sick smell around her, mingled unpleasantly with the alcohol. Experience told him, without checking, that she'd taken the fucking pills. He swallowed his fear, concentrating on checking before he spoke, hoping the Atwood luck wasn't still clinging to him. Relief nearly collapsed him as the sensory input reached his brain. A thready beat staggered against the tips of his fingers, breath chilling the back of his other hand.

''She's alive.'' He told his friends, feeling the twist in his gut unwind a bit. She needs a hospital, he thought, and soon. He calculated how long it'd take to rush back to the hotel (carrying her), grab their stuff, and make a run for the border. Even if he left her here, with her friend or his brother (and they all just abandoned their bags); it would still take too long. Thinking of where he'd left his bag brought Taylor to mind again, and this time he didn't push the thought away, because it inspired an idea. ''Helicopter.''

''What?'' Seth was comforting his love interest, rubbing her back soothingly as she buried her face in his shirt. Nice to see things moving along for his brother, but it wasn't really helpful, right then.

''Summer. Summer!'' She looked up, eyes wide with shock and fear. He tossed the unconscious girl's purse at her. ''Check and see how many she took. Seth.'' The taller boy stood straighter, looking relieved to have someone take charge, someone who knew what to do. Little does he know, Ryan thought to himself morosely. I'm just hoping no one gets hurt. Well, he looked down at the girl laying in the alley, anymore than they already have. ''Call your parents. Have the hospital send ….''

''A helicopter. Right, on it.'' The other pulled out his cell phone, moving to the mouth of the alley to make the sure to be stressful call. Thoughts of the Cohen's probably reactions twisted his stomach back into a knot. One thing at a time, he reminded himself. First, get the ditz to the hospital.

''She's going to be okay, right?'' He glanced up at Summer, hovering over him with two purses slung across her chest. At his frown, she tapped her friend's bag. ''Seven.''

''Shit.'' They had even less time than he'd thought. He'd seen the strength of the pills her step-mother was requesting: seven was pretty nasty **without** the tequila he could smell she'd washed them down with. She probably hasn't eaten, either, he snarled to himself in exasperation as he picked the girl up, trying to get her arms over his shoulders. The other girl adjusted her friend's limp form, helping him settle the body in his arms. She was a** lot** heavier than he remembered. Dead weight, his mind supplied, and he shoved the thought aside. ''Either of you know where the helicopters land?''

''Actually, dude, **I** do.'' His brother came over, closing his cell. ''One of those things that were on the itinerary, the helicopter tours going to the Native ruins, outside of town.'' He followed the taller boy out the alley and down the street,

They reached the helicopter area faster than he expected. The crowds parted and grew still when anyone caught sight of the girl in his arms. Pretty soon, they had an honor guard of water polo players; Luke trailing along after them with a pinched look on his face. Seth ran off to see about the helicopter and Summer opened her cell to call the Cooper's. Ryan set the girl carefully down on the ground, feeling again for her pulse. He frowned, looking down at the still form, and felt again. Oh, no. Oh, mother fucking God, no.

''What is it?'' Luke knelt down beside him, and went entirely white when he spoke.

''She's not breathing.''

-- xxx –

Taylor paced back and forth, biting at her nails; something she hadn't done since she was a toddler. How does it reflect on me when you go for a manicure? Her mother's voice echoed in her head. It was a lot easier to ignore, that internal sniping, than it had been before she met _**him**_. Now, all she had to do was think about how he looked at her, how he made her feel; and she didn't mean the sexual attraction. The energy between them was phenomenal; if anyone found a way to harness it, the two of them could single handedly solve California's power crises for good. Shaking such thoughts away, she frowned at the radio, changing the station for the fifth time because they were playing a morbid tune. What is it with these people and whiny songs? She thought to herself. Doesn't anyone make cheerful, happy tunes these days? She was starting to regret turning on the radio at all, but she'd really had no choice.

She'd cleaned up the room, made the bed, taken a long, cold shower, packed both their bags** twice**, told the desk she'd be checking out, and arranged for transport to the border. She'd fidgeted, trying to find something else to do, wishing she'd brought a book or something. Thoughts of what could've happened to put** that** look on Ryan's face made her stomach twist uncomfortably. The frantic concern that had surged into his blue eyes wasn't deep enough to be 'something happening to Seth'; but she was still worried. That's when she'd turned on the radio, when her imagination conjured one too many images of what could be happening to _**him**_, to his friends. Soft knocking pulled her attention to the door, and she yanked it (stupidly) open without checking.

''Hey.'' He looked worn out, but he was here, **alive**, and he was even smiling, a little. She couldn't help it, she threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. He returned the embrace, holding her close with a sigh of the same relief flooding through her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, her waist, he laid his cheek soothingly against her head. There was a click as the door was kicked shut behind him. She sighed, and the knot in her stomach unraveled enough to let her speak.

''What happened?'' Taylor whispered into his shirt, rubbing his back to comfort them both. He explained about the pills, the tragedy in her family, her cheating boyfriend; all the things that drove Marissa to do the stupidest thing **ever**. ''Is she all right?'' Taylor didn't even try to hide the true sympathy for the poor girl from him, the very real concern for a fellow human being. His arms tightened briefly, he drew a deep, prepatory breath.

''Her heart stopped.'' She felt hers attempt the same, horror filling her at what the Cooper's would go through now. How would they ever explain it to Kaitlyn? She wondered. ''I knew some CPR. She was breathing and everything when the paramedics took her on the 'copter.'' Relief filled her again, along with pride. This was** her** guy, the boy who breathed life back into someone he, at best, thought of as a moronic annoyance. ''We're leaving early, tonight.'' Disappointment wasn't **too** strong, she'd expected as much when the call had come. She nodded against his chest, but didn't release him. He seemed reluctant to part, as well, holding her firmly in an embrace that wasn't flaring into passion, for once; but simply **was**. Memorizing every nuance of the moment, she recognized a song starting on the radio and smiled, tightening her grip in a surge of emotion. This is meant to be, she thought, even the radio's play list thinks so. ''What?'' He stroked her back, obviously thinking she needed to be comforted.

''This song…..'' She smiled, feeling him listening raptly to the uncannily appropriate tune.

_I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing. _

_Watch you smile while you are sleeping, while you're far away and dreaming. _

_I could spend my life, in this sweet surrender. _

_I could stay lost in this moment, forever. _

_Every moment spent with you, is a moment I treasure. _

_Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep_

_'Cause I'd miss you, baby; and I don't wanna miss a thing._

_'Cause even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do_

_I'd still miss you, baby; and I don't wanna miss a thing. _

Amazingly, astonishingly; he started to move to the music, keeping her close against him as he swayed minutely in unison with her as the lyrics washed over them both, touching both hearts deeply.

_Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating_

_And I'm wondering what you're dreaming, wondering if it's me you're seeing. _

_Then I kiss your eyes, and thank God we're together._

_I just wanna stay with you, in this moment forever and ever and ever. _

_Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep_

_'Cause I'd miss you, baby: and I don't wanna miss a thing._

_'Cause even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do_

_I'd still miss you, baby; and I don't wanna miss a thing. _

Ryan pulled away, cupping her face as the song continued, smiling at her in total agreement with the words. They stopped moving, lips touching gently in quiet contentment. Their song, she thought. This would be **their **song, now. Aerosmith was her new favorite band, just for this one, tremendously fitting tune.

_I don't wanna miss one smile, I don't wanna miss one kiss_

_I just wanna be with you, right here with you, just like this_

_I just wanna hold you close, feel your heart so close to mine_

_And just stay here in this moment for all the rest of time._

_Don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep_

_'Cause I'd miss you, baby; and I don't wanna miss a thing._

_'Cause even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do_

_I'd still miss you, baby; and I don't wanna miss a thing._

**She** pulled away this time; releasing him to retrieve his bag as the song swelled, finishing. Taylor clicked the radio off on the final bars; comfortable silence filled the room. She gave him a smile full of understanding affection, laying her palm against his cheek tenderly. He turned the handle on the door, closing his eyes with a pained expression as he covered her palm with his own. Her smile wavered, disappearing as the door once more closed after_** him**_, feeling cold with the absence of his touch, his presence. The only solace to the bittersweet parting lay in the word neither had said.

Goodbye.


End file.
